Cycling trips, especially on back-roads, always have their surprises. This poem is the story of one such event that happened when a friend and I re-cycled the very mountainous Mae Hong Son loop in the north of Thailand. The artwork is my own, created from macro photographs of urban decay.
Just a free-spirited dog putting a different perspective on things... Good doggie!
A Dog's Life
With loaded bikes and mountains to climb,
We're cycling the loop for a second time,
Nine years on the hills seem higher,
Now into our fifties and quicker to tire,
In a village of Hmong we stop for the night
With beer by a fire beneath starlight,
A jaunty young dog gives us a lick,
Enjoying the salt on our arms laid thick,
Early next morning crawling uphill,
Packed and wrapped against the chill,
A patter of claws as the dog comes along,
Young and fit and mountain strong,
He breezes past leading the way,
Eager to face and chase the day,
A downhill stretch and I overtake,
Relaxed I roll as he sprints in my wake,
But I lose the race as the rise comes back,
And he trots to the front with the stamina I lack,
Black and white with bouncing tongue,
And breath in the air from rhythmic lung,
I laugh and implore him to homeward head,
Mistaking just who is the one being led,
Then a basking lizard scurries away,
And the dog gives chase in hunt or play,
He soon reappears but there's more to explore,
A road-killed snake no dog could ignore,
Then behind to my right a crunch of leaves,
Chasing again off through the trees,
He catches up as the road starts turning,
Still going uphill pumping and burning,
We stop for a break and sit on the ground,
As he watches and loiters and sniffs around,
He courteously waits but thinks we're too slow,
Then wags his tail when we're ready to go,
And so it goes on for a couple of hours,
Close to the point where we feel he is ours,
But no collar nor leash nor rusting chains,
A dog whose choice nobody restrains,
Never once did he bark or beg or whine,
Just a dog as a dog in a life benign,
We stop to relax at the top of a hill,
While our spirited dog roves at will,
But held by the view we rest too long,
And once ready to leave our dog is gone,
Companions of road for ten mountain miles,
Our paths in the end were of differing styles,
The hills of the north he was born to roam,
Where all tracks, all trails will carry him home,
Whilst bound to the road with targets in mind,
We left the freedom of a dog's life behind.
