Zorba: Coming Home
Humane shelter housing homeless hounds
dog-turds dropped in cages built on concrete
water and piss and spilled food dishes
barking, growling, howling, whining, woofing, yelping
hopeful, hapless, helpless
fearful, frightened, frightening
barely bearable
pandemonium
In that din you showed a quiet dignity and I liked your looks
husky-shaped
almond eyes, broad head, very furry (medium length),
fluffy tail curled up, ruff puffed up, ears pointed up
not Siberian (black-and-white), but what?
auburn, bay, beige, chestnut, chocolate, cinnamon, cocoa, coffee, ecru,
fawn, hazel, mohogany, musteline, russet, sorrel, tawny, titian, umber
yes and more, softly blended
The humane people told me you were part
Norwegian Elkhound, German Shepherd, and who-knew-what
which is why I called you Zorba (why not Greek as well?)
and that
you had been abused and beaten by your former owners and
you were taken from them through legal action and
the dignity I thought I saw was simply dread and
that you couldn’t improve by staying there any longer
When I got you home I knew they knew you well
because when I picked up something new to you
your leash
the broom
my belt
guitar
you lay down on your side
and urinated
It took you a while to learn
who to trust
some manners and tricks
not to hog the bed at night
which houses you could bum for food
and it took me even longer to get over wondering if the neighbors
thought I meant the Greek when I wandered in the dark crying
“Zorba! Come home, Zorba!”