Duchess would wade in summer streams
Amidst darting trout of no consequence
Her concern instead with animals come to drink
Faint proof in scents and prints along the muddy banks
Alert she’d splash to every rustle in the brush
The endless joy of maybe a moose!
When Dad had put on his waders, when he’d read
The pools and eddies and chosen the right fly
Time would come for dog’s play to cease
A whistle and one slap on his left leg
Out on the left bank and quiet she would lie
In swaying shafts of sifted sunlight
Later, cold enough and with trout to cook (or not)
Two slaps OK to frolic before heading home
Rising slowly with a long contented stretch
Enough a quenching drink at stream’s edge
Furry reflection shimmering in the shallows
Illusive trout swimming in dog’s dewy eyes
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Copyright Deborah McGlauflin 2009. All rights reserved.
