Two dogs ran to meet me on a walk
with my dog, a three-legged lab mix
named Lily because my wife thought 
Tripod, Trip (short for Triple), or Treble 
weren’t right even though they are.

The two were puppies, the first dogs
that Lily ever tolerated. They joined our walk.
I tried to ditch them at the halfway point 
near the house with the three mutts
who never stop barking. The pups kept up.

My wife welcomed them, open arms. Our kids
took two days to name them. Meanwhile,
friends accused me of living in denial. I refused
to call them anything but their colors, gray and black.
We have a dog, two cats, some fish. That’s enough

zoo in my mind, enough mouths to feed,
enough to clean up after, all around enough.
The big one, a bully named Charlie, rubs my wife
wrong, steals Pip’s food, nips him for fun. Jealousy 
earns him a ticket to the farm. Pip stays.

Pip cuddles kids, Lily, my wife. He tries to snuggle me, 
piddles puddles of pee every time he sees me. I resist.
I am proud of my fortitude especially when friends
mock me on Facebook, laugh at my stoicism.
I don’t complain much, but Pip, master manipulator,

weasels his way deeper into the day-to-day, 
more food, longer walks, a new leash on life. 
A friend declares, dogs find the home they need.
Pip slept next to Lily during the thunderstorm today.
He’ll do anything for salmon. He knows sit, stay.
                        

It was just a local spelling bee.
An unfortunate kid drew a bad lot
for round two, weltschmerz.

His pained expression betrayed
his questions for alternate pronunciations,
part of speech (noun), and definition.

His grimace underscored his agony
when the pronouncer declared the 
sense of melancholy and world-

weariness. Exasperated, the boy
began strong, skipped the c, and slunk
off the stage with new knowledge

and no sense of irony that this word
was his downfall and his awakening
to just how hard the world can be.