Michele Genzardi

A Dog Named Joey

I kneel down at the crest of the meadow; the trail is winding up through the junipers; cutting through the grassland where cattle are roaming. I pause sitting back on the rocks that edge the trail leading towards the Pacific Crest. I’m tired, my shirt soaked with sweat clinging to my back. Joey my four-legged hiking partner is prancing at the edge of the leash, frenzied with the need to chase the cattle. He glances back at me, his sigh showing his displeasure at my not allowing him to herd. He licks at my hand, then glances back at the them as though to remind me that he’s a cattle dog and that I’m interfering with the nature of things. I smile, kissing the top of his head, hugging him close I whisper a lullaby to calm his nerves. Joey my Joey, the best dingo dog there could be, Joey my Joey my heart belongs to thee.