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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460782" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0331 How to Wait Doggedly</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ve never seen him just like this before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Crouched at the entrance to the largest run, <br>the burrowed-out soil in front of it<br>ground to dust by many eager legs<br>hopping, skipping out of the dark warren -<br>he’s totally silent, totally still. It's awesome.<br>This isn’t the puppy who goes wild at rabbits<br>in a frenzy of excitement, wet nose intoxicated by<br>a thousand trails of scent, scattering<br>white tails into burrows, barking wildly<br>(are they friends or enemies, in this joy?) <br>at the sheer excitement of the chase, <br>puppy paradise; but now..<br>this is serious stuff.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">at first sight, you could think he’s resting, he’s so still; <br>his back legs haunched down under him, looking<br>like the sphinx itself, immobile, waiting for the question<br>it’s waited for through thousands of wise years; <br>may only answer in this sacred silence; <br>his nose and head and throat almost flat upon the ground<br>(this is no time for his 'Tailwaggers' League' identity disc to rattle) <br>as if at the epicentre of<br>some invisible geometry of scent and earth-echoed sound, <br>his ears poised, half-lifted on instant muscles; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">he’s the image of relaxation, at first sight: <br>but a stillness packed with potential energy<br>wound as ready on electric nerves as in a spring; <br>a silence so intense it’s thrilling, <br>full of alertness; a silence right inside his head<br>that teaches silence, stillness: he’s carrying<br>no sense of future: he’s living a continuous present, <br>waiting for the senses to tell him something.<br>There’s nothing else in the world to do, right now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A fox terrier flat on the ground at the entrance<br>to a mere rabbit-hole; we’ve never found a foxhole, <br>we two; should I apologise to him? If we had, <br>he’d be in there like a flash; sheer life-or-death ferocity; <br>but here, nevertheless, it’s serious stuff; <br>this is what thousands of years of dog<br>have made him for; that, and what he and man<br>have learned together from each other; bred in him; <br>while this present man gazes awestruck at the species<br>in its perfection of action, action contained in stillness, <br>stillness and silence containing all the senses, <br>all contained in knowledge, awaiting, perfect, pure, <br>what the cosmos will reveal in its good time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Has my dog just shown me, taught me, <br>how a poet should await a poem?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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Crouched at the entrance to the largest run, 
the burrowed-out soil in front of it
ground to dust by many eager legs
hopping, skipping out of the dark warren -
he’s totally silent, totally still. It'..."></div>
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