A poem written 10 1/2 years ago about the late, great Dewey:

Adventures of a Young Dog

Up through woods and meadows we hiked
with Dewey
my nephew’s Chesapeake Bay Retriever
bounding up the long slope
carrying his big head easily
and, as if it didn’t already weigh enough,
hefting thick branches in his mouth
as lightly as fetching sticks,
whacking our calves with them as he wheeled by
tracing manic arabesques,
at one point hoisting a log
half as big as a fence post
and bringing it to us eagerly,
zigzagging up the mountain
collecting odors like butterflies
stopping only to roll in the snow
or rub his muzzle in it
with young dog ardor,
full speed ahead.

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