Starting with Bou, in 2009,
a litter of four puppies,
abandoned, she was the last one
to be saved; night approaching,
the highway’s near, “bring her
home,” I said. Then, June,
four years later, malnourished,
beaten and old, ticks lined-up
and attacking, like in the game
Stratego, all wet in the rain.
“Wait here, beside him,
I’ll be back,” I ordained.
A year and a month later,
outside my door, a perky, stray puppy.
I tried to hold her too close;
three was my limit, (or four, or five.)
She ran away, scared. A prayer,
to Virgin Mary, to keep her safe
and bring her back, answered;
“Gilda, hard to catch,” Tassos
lifting her up like a lamb.
Υes, I nodded; his rescue, my vow.