ring toss 1957 I’m eleven years old crossing from Le Havre to New York on the Ile de France elegant steamship a delicious seven days of rock and pitch on the sports deck a coal-black shepherd launches catches the ring midair— with a snap of his head, flings it— a cry of delight as the silvery woman snags the red ring slings it back they know this routine my yearning eyes she invites me to greet him he offers a paw distinguished, so grave I am taken
I know, right? That’s why my first dog, several years later, was a German Shepherd. Mom made it very clear we weren’t getting a "horse in the house"—her response to my wanting an Irish wolfhound.
Who wouldn’t be taken by such a performance!
I know, right? That’s why my first dog, several years later, was a German Shepherd. Mom made it very clear we weren’t getting a "horse in the house"—her response to my wanting an Irish wolfhound.