My Brilliant Sheepdog

My brilliant sheepdog L O V E S
playing frisbee.

The second I throw that
flat little disk through the woods
she transforms into a
barky yappy ginger-wild beast
a four-legged, tail-waving
ears-flying dart of a dog
as every fluffed-up inch of her
charges after frisbee.

Because at this rapturous
frisbee-in-the-air moment
nothing else in the world matters.

Only that little neon-orange
flying saucer of a frisbee.

Trees tremble with the thrill of it.
Sun does a double-take.
Winds are well . . . amused.

Everyone that day is witness
to this high-speed winner-take-all race
as they watch my brilliant
dog following, hawk-like
frisbee’s curly-confident
smooth-sailing sky-path.

Unstoppable
my dog bounds off
hurtling between knotty trunks
tearing over pointed rocks
racing through bramble-sharp vines and
piles of old leaf crunch.

Nothing dares get in her way.

The game grows more electrifying
as a dozen totally startled clouds
hold their breath as that devilish
free-flying frisbee creature grins
calling out in a daring wind-whisper
'can't catch me' !

Fact is
my dog and frisbee are bound
by generations of game playing
to keep on going.
They can't help it.
They loop, race and fly
circling each other without rest.

It feels like an eternity.
Trees, sun winds and clouds
restless with excitement.

Until finally
that poor frisbee creature
out of breath and now out of push
slow-wafts back down to earth.

And that is when my brilliant dog
in a dizzying bold leap
springs towards the sky and in
a lightning-fast mouth-open
snap
catches frisbee mid-air.

Everything stops.

It’s over. Deep sighs everywhere.

Trees calm down.
Sun goes back to shining nicely.
Clouds breathe their normal little puffs as
winds vanish in carefree
that-was-fun-see-you-later gusts.

But it’s not over.
Because just then, clenching the disk tight
between sparkle-sharp teeth
my dog gently shakes frisbee
up and down . . . up and down
like she is teaching that creature
some kind of great life lesson

Fact is again
I'm pretty sure that deep
inside her clever doggy brain
my dog understands that
frisbee is really and truly
a poor sheep in disguise.

A sad little thing
who had carelessly wandered off
and gotten lost in the sky.

And of course only she
my brilliant hero of a
brilliant sheepdog can rescue
that poor lost frisbee-sheep.

Because fact is yet again
that is what sheepdogs
have been doing well . . .
forever.

(and a long time before frisbees were invented).