Sophie

Sophie sleeps in a cage
with chrome spoked walls.
Her paws twitch, lips tremble
to half-whimpers, mumbled yelps --
echoes from the world of dreams.

There, she snarls,
bares glistening fangs
at the intruder climbing
between Pooh Bear drapes.
He reaches into Baby's crib.

She lunges, mighty legs
propelling her forward. 
Her jaws vice a forearm.
Teeth puncture flesh,
tongue salty with blood.

She awakens, aches for Mother,
who abandoned her to a cage.
Memories of scolding shouts,
the tight pull of a choke...
Mother's eyes never blinked
during the drive here.

Sophie trembles with urgency
to stand guard at crib's edge.
Instead, she watches other dogs
sleeping, twitching within cages.
They too long for home, 
now a memory, a dream.

Miles away, a woman
tucks her infant into bed.
She glances down, smiling.
There is no Sophie 
to slobber her leg,
hog her attentions.

Mother switches off the light,
strides through the quiet house,
savors the absence
of a smelly dog bowl,
food scattered about its rim.

The floor is immaculate,
free of tattered newspapers, 
drool-dampened socks,
puddles pooling
near the water bowl.

She retires to bed.
The tidy house surrounds her.

Scott Speck
1998