They Don't Bark

His didn’t.
Three months and forty pounds ago
we loaded
our new puppies, two Bull Mastiff brothers
into the
back seat of the car.
Our little bundles of joy
playful, cuddly, lick your face
tail wagging
pistons of power.
Muscle pups
that fly
eat rocks
like tissue paper, and
leap through the air
like they were shot
out of a gun.
Small giants
still growing.
Two heart throbs
tweaking
evocative cords.
That chatter in tongues
that only their mother,
a brawny brindle lass, with pink toenails
that lives in Aiea,
could appreciate.

Meanwhile
Uncle Zeus
his most royal Great Dane highness
has completed the first round
of inspections
and graciously agreed
to teach them the ropes.
So far,
he has taught classes in:

  I.   The Perimeter
 II.   Mapping out the exact corner where the neighbor’s dogs live
III.  How to mark your territory
IV. Where to drink water out of the pond
 V.  I have the bone and you can’t have it
VI.  Midnight Howling

They all got an A
in that last subject.

I am so proud.

Our choir
is a dedicated group.
They practice every
time they hear a siren.
Sometimes they will wail
up to three or four times a night.
In fact they enjoyed Midnight Howling so much
they have already enrolled in the daytime course.
We’re planning on sending them
to the AKC national competition
maybe even hire a handler.
I am curious
about their pedigree though?
This particular trait
must have skipped a generation,
because their
Mom and Dad,
don’t bark.