Second Place: "Rabbit Run"
by Norman W. Bates

Third Place: "A Beagle Limerick"
by Julie Griffin

Honorable Mentions: "Houdini Dog" by Karen Marie; "What an Eater" by Sheila B. Roark; and "Chukker's Song" by Jody Hamilton

Montana's Fear
by Howard Weinberg

Montana fears thunder, curls up
under the desk, in the tub
anywhere with walls.
Wanting to be small,
he shivers and his heart beats fast
as if he were running away.

If he is outside he whimpers,
runs for the house. Once, when
we thought him safely penned
he appeared in the darkness of our bed,
wide-eyed, desperate, filled
with alarm, a doomed warden
announcing the blitz. We took him in,
calmed him, petted him, let him
stay the night, marveled
at the power of fear
to drive a dog
through a chain-link fence.

I love thunder, its promise
of excitement and relief.
When I hear its distant surf,
my head lifts up like a dog's.
I love the way the wind cools,
sudden as thought,
and the trees applaud.
I think it must be the oldest drama,
raising the dust and beating it down,
bashing limbs and leaves into the grass,
filling gutters and spouts, resolving
whirlpools into drains, roiling
the muddy creek into action.

I love the ozone and the rainbow,
the glimmer of western sun
when the storm has gone
scudding over the prairie,
flattening corn, pushing cars and trucks
to the side of the road,
leaving us behind
glistening with awe.

I love thunder and I love storms
but something I never told you is this:
Montana's fear is mine.
It comes for me sometimes
under blue skies
walking to work, or waking at night,
when there is nothing to distract me.
That's when I hear the Big Dog laugh.

Montana runs to us--
reason enough to love him.
In soothing the dog
we soothe ourselves.
Elizabeth, we only have each other
and a handful of humanity,
sprinkled over the earth,
fragile flames
flickering at the edge of a great log.
Love will not save us
but there is no other refuge.
It is the only hole in the fence.
Let us say each other's names
and pet each other,
and hope that when the storm has gone
we have a place to lie down.

Copyright © 1998 by Howard Weinberg.

Rabbit Run (with apologies to John Updike)
by Norman W. Bates.

He lies there twitching, his eyes rolled back
His breathing comes in short pants.
He yips fretfully, his paws dogpaddling.
He's in hot pursuit.

I know what he dreams of.
I see the jackrabbit's ears.
I feel the leash tug like the pull on a marlin line.
Like the pull on heart strings.
I feel the pull of his dream.

The schnauzer sniffs the sleeping beagle.
He smells the scent of the hunt.
His nose knows what the beagle knows.
He snatches his sock string and lets the old dog lie.

His body twitches. His eyes roll. He yips fretfully.
His paws paddle.
Rabbit run.

Copyright © 1998 by Norman W. Bates.

 

A Beagle Limeric
by by Julie Griffin.

I have a young beagle named Scout,
My Mom, she is very put out,
'Cause her flowers he ate,
And he peed on the gate,
My beagle's a dead dog, no doubt.

Copyright © 1998 by Julie Griffin

 

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