Pet of the wild, but creature of compassion.

Glancing at me like I stole his soul. Wondering why I won’t throw.

Like the world has stopped turning, and all that matters is the ball.

A near flinch of my hand and he is gone in a flash.Already knowing the future. 

Don’t look back, and don’t regret.

Spotting the ball soaring over the tress, he predicts the spot of impact. Running to the ball, like it’s a an apple falling from a tree. Attempting to time the falling ball, he leaps into the air. His legs extending in space,

then using his full force to get as high as he can. I sat there amazed at the potential of the animal. The chomp down on the ball was as strong as an alligator’s. Securing it in his mouth, he begins to run back to me. Finishing the job of what retrievers do. 

Knowing he did what he was born to do.  Accomplishment smeared on his face. 

Making sure I notice a job well done. He arrives, spitting the ball out, wanting to go again. Never wanting to stop. Never running out of energy. 

Doing what he loves, because it was in his blood.

Golden retriever.