moco limping.

Moco Limping 
 by David Nava Monreal

 My dog hobbles with a stick 
of a leg that he drags behind 
him as he moves. 
And I was a man that wanted a 
 beautiful, noble animals as a pet. 
I wanted him to be strong and 
capture all the attention by 
the savage grace of his gait. 
I wanted him to be the first dog
 howling in the pack, 
the leader, the brutal hunter
 that broke through the woods with thunder. 
But, instead he's this rickety little canine 
that leaves trails in the dirt with his club foot. 
He's the stumbler that trips while 
chasing lethargic bees and butterflies. 
It hurts me to see him so
 abnormal, so clumsy and stupid. 
My vain heart weeps knowing he is mine. 
But then he turns my way and
 looks at me with 
 eyes that cry out with life. 
He jumps at me with
 his feeble paws. 
I feel his warm fur 
and his imperfection is 

in the words of one of my students yesterday after this reading this poem together,
"things don't have to be perfect for you to accept them."
{how many times will God continue to remind me of this?}

thank you sir winston for teaching me this lesson over and over again.

you may not be the ideal canine specimen but you have surely brought so much joy into my life.

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