TASHA

Mixed Welsh Terrier they told us
at the Humane Society. Which
made us ask ourselves: mixed with
what? Maybe fugitive, we joked.
Open the front door and use your
legs to block her escape or she would
be gone, tearing across the street
as if chased by demons. Trailed,
then reclaimed, she would lick your
hand in gratitude and seem to say
-- well then, what's for supper?
There came the day when she could
not be found. Placards on telephone
poles and trees, ad in the paper,
yielded no response. We hoped
she'd found another family,
one that guarded the front door
with more efficiency than we had.