How to Brush a Dog to Transform Time
A poem by Tricia Knoll

How to Brush a Dog to Transform Time

Know your dog’s term limits.
For a furry English Shepherd
that’s fifteen minutes – free of Fourth of July
grenades, earthquakes, or lightning,
no visible cats or squirrels. Let a collar be
a handle. Hold on.

Lay out tools. Dogs accept an inheritance
of combs and slicker brushes from gone dogs.
Pad your pocket with heart-shaped salmon
and pumpkin cookie treats. Let the dog smell
the jacket’s most important pocket.
This is not work for suede or tuxedos.

I tease out my girl’s blue-spruce sap tangles
from napping in the woods. Soothe errant tufts
around the ears. Progress to the end, the tail
where most dogs start wiggling.
When wagging stops. Enough.
She fluffs off with a belly full of hearts.

I hold a fistful of black and gold
and white fur in my palm.
This is how time gets soft.

About the Author:

Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet who lives with two dogs in the deep woods. Dogs frequently show up in Knoll’s work — but so do trees. Her most recent collection, One Bent Twig (FutureCycle Press 2023) contains poems about trees she has planted, loved, and worries about due to climate chaos. Website: triciaknoll.com

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