My dog is obsessive. I don't know if it was nature or nurture, but I feel part way responsible. Regardless...
I'm always trying to convince him that he would be happier if he could mentally let go: stop thinking about the bird outside, the reflection my watch is making on the ceiling, or the squeaky I set on top of the fridge.
He refuses to be comforted. He can stare and wait and whine and dance and always, always keep up the stare. He cannot be diverted, appeased, or reasoned with. He is locked in a marriage between himself and fantasy, which thunder, lightening, earthquake, and gale cannot divorce.
Would Churchill train a dog to never, never, never give up? Is not discretion the better part of valor? Should not a covenant impetuously made when broken reveal a virtue?
I don't know. But I do know that I woke up in the middle of the night to grab my laptop, jot down this poem, and cannonball right back into sleep. I call it "O Coyote."
Your lust for roadrunners
is your undoing.