My Dog

By Bobby Warner

I found him in the woods, took him home, and cleaned him up.

He was rambunctious, jumping and yelping: “Arp-arp! Arp-arp!”

Arp-Arp often accompanied me into the forest as my trapper dog. He bounded about: sniffing out all manner of animals, he made sure I was never bored.

But soon, age overcame my friend. Lying on his pallet, he seldom stirred.

One night, as I bent over to pet his head, he murmured his last soundless “Arp-arp.”

The next morning, I buried him in the meadow where we often romped and played.

I wish I could hear his Arp-arp! Arp-arp! again.