Three Dogs Knowing
They don’t set out to do anything
They play, the three of them:
Jack, Danny, and Max.
Every morning the play continues,
tugging one another this way and that
along throughout a day.
If Danny sits, scratching and gazing
across the fence and quiet street,
Max will bring him an enduring piece of hat
or garden hose or
the last fourth of a plastic ball
and drop it at his feet.
If Jack lies in the grass
with sun on his ribs and breeze in his ears,
the other two will attack mid-dream
with nip and tug at neck and tail.
It is pure genius and heart.
Three dogs living out the Mystery
while it slips like water through
of my grasping.
[Adapted from the poem “Three Dogs Knowing” by Em Claire (2005), published in When Everything Changes, Change
Everything, by Neale Donald Walsch, p. 93-94, and inspired by our
neighbours' three dogs.]