At first…

When first he came,
He coughed with runny eyes,
He lay in a puddle on the Oriental rug,
A puddle of matted fur and sad, sad eyes.
He hardly moved — so scared and lost,
Wondering if he had found home.
Waiting and watching and healing
Slowly becoming strong.

And later…

In the early morning world,
Silent and silver.
My Toby dances and frolics
And spins in the growing tangled light.
He chortles and rollicks along
An old stone wall.
With balance and grace.
Later he will waver and pant.
Soon to be trundled to bed.
Where dreams of foxes and lingering smell
Will fill his slumber.