Dad never said he liked animals, but we always
Had a dog for a pet. He would give them demeaning names
Such as “Knothead” or “Fish-face” and pet them so hard
We kids thought he was beating them. Once “Fish-face”
(His real name was “Prince”) strayed too far from the yard.
Dad lifted him up on his shoulder and hauled
Him home while the poor dog yelped helplessly.
I was always puzzled by how those dogs were so happy
To see him arrive. To my eyes, they groveled like servants.
One of the neighborhood boys, whom I did not like,
Was, as our dogs, mysteriously drawn to my father.
Dad also liked to hunt pheasants and fish.
He had practical reasons, I guess, because we would eat
What he shot or caught. It was never enough for a meal.
Cats? They seemed to be beneath his notice, but once
A kitten got lost under our house. The family was sitting
Down for dinner already, but he was outside kneeling
On the lawn and calling out “Kitty-cat? Kitty-cat?”
In an uncharacteristically high voice. One summer
As we detoured on one of Dad’s infamous “shortcuts”
A mama quail dashed out from the side of the road
With four small chicks behind her in a row, quills
Bobbing comically. Dad yelled “Ack!” and jerked
The steering wheel to miss them. For some reason,
I then recalled that kitten under the house, the boy
In our neighborhood, and the look on our dogs’ faces.
I laughed out loud at the odd sound of his voice
Or my new realization of who my father was.
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