Rocky The Rottweiler Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

The long awaited social security check finally did arrive.
After buying some food, there were ten twenties and a five.
The remainder of the month still had many bills to pay.
The old man was thankful; he would be able to find a way.

With the money in his pocket, he walked out the door.
The undernourished man walked away from the store.
He heard the sound of footsteps, drumming softly behind.
He continued on his way, casting worry from his mind.

Heading toward his house, the sidewalk took a bend.
On the porch was his dog Rocky; he was a trusty friend.
The beat quickened; the old man was seized by the shoulder.
'Give me your money old man.' He felt a hit like a boulder.

Rocky leaped from the deck, and raced to his master’s rescue.
He snarled at the mugger, as the old man continued to refuse.
A gun appeared from the robber’s holster and bullets flew.
Shots were fired at Rocky first. What could the man do?

'The next shot is for you old man.' The hammer clicked.
The chamber was empty; the scared man wasn’t even nicked.
The robber ran with the money, the moments were fleeting.
Rocky was down and bleeding, but he was still breathing.

The trembling old man lifted Rocky and cried out to his wife.
'Open the door, let me in. This dog is fighting for his life.'
Without money, the old man couldn’t take Rocky to a vet.
He and his wife stroked Rocky’s head and helplessly wept.

Rocky knew his actions had saved his loving master.
But now, nothing could prevent an inevitable disaster.
Death is not deserved, for a friend so loyal and true.
Rocky was a brave hero and that the old man knew.


(3/9/06)