On the 5th of April in ’92
the air was fresh and the sky was blue
and I didn’t know what I thought I knew
and I said some things about me and you
that were not exactly, perfectly true
and I knew you’d say that we were through,
but I can’t take it all back now.
I didn’t think I’d regret that day,
but in hindsight now I have to say
I made a mistake and I’m willing to pay
whatever it takes to find a way
to bring you home and have you stay.
How can my words begin to convey
how much I miss you both.
So, please consider my heartfelt plea.
I think if we talked we both could see
a possible way that we might be
so happy together and jointly agree
that our parting is not a fait accompli,
and we don’t have to fight and disagree.
Just bring my dog back home.
Of course, I miss you, too, my dear.
I’m so alone when you’re not here.
I wake each day with a nagging fear
that you’ll turn away, not wanting to hear
that my life’s a wreck; I’m being sincere.
I promise I will not domineer
if you’ll just bring my Fido home.
It’s good to get this off my chest
as I close this note with a simple request:
pat Fido and give him my very best,
tell him to eat and get his rest,
that this parting is something I truly detest,
and he’s the best dog in the whole southwest —
and I hope you’ll come back, too.
Sonoran Desert Writer 