The boy has good dog karma.
He picked that first one out at fifty feet.
A long-time inmate of the county pound,
she was old, sausage-built,
homely, and none too bright.
So how did he know?
Good dog karma.
He lost his way those fearful years ago,
traveled roads we still don’t understand,
struggled from cliff-edged heights to despair
until, against the odds, that boy
made his way home.
Good dog karma
found the next one on the internet,
downloaded a photo and a hundred words,
a rescued mutt of strange parentage,
a vessel filled with doggy love,
his unerring choice.
You gotta believe
in a boy with that kind of dog karma.
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