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One Truth of Dogs

Late November the corn is in, stubs

litter the ground, frozen and thawed

a dozen times since Veteran’s Day.

Gopher mounds poke up then collapse

across the lawn. This morning I find

bear scat halfway down the drive,

coming or going I can’t say. While

I stand and think, Don Armstrong’s

truck bounces across the rows, belching

exhaust. Whatever is he doing?

Then I see his dog Evie at the wheel,

the windows cranked down, her ears

flapping in the wind. A crazed smile

pushes hips across her teeth. I stare

in disbelief until my dog bumps

against my legs and says, “You weren’t

ever suppose to see this.”

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