Frisco was a good dog from the very beginning. Even as a pup he paid attention. He listened, and he learned well. He always did right, or almost always. He did love to chase a cat, which caused trouble now and then.

My wife brought him home in an effort to get me to move in with her. She knew I loved dogs. It certainly helped my decision. That very first day he laid his tiny body across my foot and slept for hours, until that foot grew so numb I finally had to move. I was hooked on the girl and the dog. Frisco bonded us no differently than a child would have.

He was a Shetland Sheepdog with a thick, beautiful mane. He would lie in the grass for hours, his head held high like a lion’s, his eyes bored but watchful as he awaited any danger that might come forth so that he could throw himself at it. We were his love. Protecting us was his passion. Thus the “shepherd” in his name, I suppose.

He is long gone. It has been twenty years now, but I feel myself getting choked up as I write this. There is a picture on my office wall that my wife gave me one Christmas. In it Frisco is sitting because he was told to sit, that is what he did, but you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He is in a strange place, with strange dangers that he is unsure how to protect her from. It is about the only time I think of him anymore, when I look at that picture. But when I do it all floods back; his high, shrill bark, the velvet feel of his head and ears, and the way the hair curled down behind them like ribbon scraped through scissors. Or the way we would race each other over the Reafield hills when he was just a little fella, him yapping at my heels until he finally poured it on and got out in front, barking with unbridled joy. The way he once broke his leg and just laid down, refusing to tell me what was wrong, or that anything was. But mostly I recall how he watched. He always watched. Every move he watched. He watched for so long that he knew what was going to happen before it happened. He anticipated everything. I could get up to go to the bathroom and he would not move, but if I stood up in exactly the same manner to go outside he would sprint to the door. How did he know? From watching, I guess. There never was a more observant, or more faithful creature. Not ever. I would have died for that dog, just as, without doubt, he would have died for me.

But as nature will have it, Frisco lived his ten years and left us. It is both the curse and blessing of a dog, ten years. He developed a strange cough, and it wasn’t long after that. We cried for a few days. We got another dog, and moved on with life until we are only reminded every now and then when we pause beside a picture on an office wall; a picture with a worn collar hanging from the top right corner, a picture of this world’s very center, if only for a short while.

I wish you could love me like I love you

I wish you weren’t the ever-burning star

At the center of my universe

A reminder of an impending doom

That one day, your fire will consume me

And yet

You are my only source of light

Keeping me warm

Your rays look upon me

Never in adoration

But never in disdain

An ever-present glazed indifference

Why is it that my love letters never reach you?

They must go up in flames in your overwhelming heat

I can’t kiss you

You’re so far away

And you’re so big

And I’m so small

My dreams of you at night

Don’t make you rise any quicker

I wonder if my words reach you

I wonder if they can slip through those pearly gates

To meet you in the Heavens

I look up at you

Hoping you aren’t looking down on me

I thought I could quench the Sun

I thought if I loved you enough

Maybe your fires wouldn’t have burned me up too

So when I see the smoke rolling off my skin

I don’t try to kiss the burns away this time

I let you consume me

Because all I want

Is to be with you

"I AM",

he said

"DONE WITH THIS",

and rose above the rest

a short statured man

large mouth, shallow chest, and 32 years old

walked in the room with confidence

and found the other man,

waited for the moment

that he could release his breath.

Outraged, indignant

his pressure grew and grew

personal defamation

no need for explanation

he knows what he is feeling

and he knows what he must do

so without hesitation

approached the man that he felt wronged him

glanced to the right at his girlfriend,

and in one blinding fury

opened up the floodgates

3 hard punches, one connected

the other guy, with a black eye

leaned in, unrelenting

kicked the shit out of him

natural consequence for stupid behavior.

They both ended up in prison.

The sky erupted into a brilliant shade of pink imbued with streaks of orange. The ocean below threw back a mirror image of its sheen. Cullen smiled as he leaned against the guardrail and looked out across the sea. It was a beautiful evening.

Cullen had sealed the big deal. He had brought home the impossible commission. He could afford to buy his wife’s dream house. He would be her hero atop the figurative white stallion.

Cullen had saved the day.

He turned away from the ocean. He started across the street. There was a new found swagger in his steps.

Distant tires squealed. Cullen casually, unhurriedly shifted his gaze to the left. A van careened around the corner. Cullen stood stunned a moment before running out of the way. He felt the van whiz past, just missing him. He keeled over on the sidewalk, sweating, panting, shaking.

Inside the van, a woman was shouting. “Slow down! You nearly hit that guy!”

“It’s alright,” a man replied,” it’s alright, if we don’t get the plant in time, everyone is going to die anyway. I am telling you, the explosion will wipe this city off the map. If I hit somebody, I hit somebody.”

“I don’t like this,” the woman replied.

“We have to make it in time. We just have to.”

I looked up to him.

He is my night in shiny armour.

When the ladies came around, he was their gentleman charmer.

When we went to the gym, his body was fantastic.

When I needed help with my car, his arms were elastic. He is everything a perfect big brother should be. Besides his hearing he lost at birth, on that he can depend on me.

The table in the poker room

was smokey, silent, full of gloom.

One seat open, I sat down,

and quickly ordered Coke and Crown.

A few hands in I hit a boat

and all my rivals I then smote.

A single rival called my hand

to see the cards that I would land.

He told me I was very good,

his kindness, though, I misunderstood.

He had a plan I did not know.

On that count I was very slow.

A few hands more, I had to try

to bluff into a winning prize.

Played just like my winning hand

no other rival made a stand.

I pulled the pot with youthful glee.

I was on a winning spree.

A few hands further, feeling fine,

I tried again yet one more time.

My single rival called once more

and I was turned from rich to poor.

I left the room and saw him grin

as I could only hang my chin.