Her Name Was Mystery

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Her name was Mystery,
because she was a stray
from places unknown.
She came to our home,
and she was love,
both loved and loving.
She was my protector.
Gentle as a baby, she was,
so how could she protect me?
But I knew she would,
because she was devoted to me,
sleeping beside the bed at night,
especially when I slept alone,
watchful.
Her heart was gentle,
she never barked
until the man in the black hat came
and she became the dog from hell,
placing herself between me and him.
Hat removed, she became quiet,
once again our loving, docile dog.
We could never train her
in a chain collar,
nor walk her on a linked leash
for at the rattle
of the metal chain,
she cowed and whimpered,
almost as in pain.
Had some man in a big, dark hat
used a chain
on this beautiful, loving creature?
What a beast he must have been,
for this dog, our Mystery,
had nothing but love
and gentle devotion
in our home.
My heart broke
when she died.
She was loving and devoted
to the last breath,
blessing our lives
and teaching us in silence
that even the wounded spirit can love.







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