When first we moved to Ramat Gan,
To help Tamar with her baby boy
And better know her husband Dan,
For Milky there was little joy.
Restricted again she was by lead,
Since dogs are multitudinous here;
By her wrenching, I became knock-kneed
And she a steadfast mutineer.
Pedestrian highways span the park,
Adjacent to the Yarkon River;
Poor Milky’s prospects seemed quite stark,
For I her freedom couldn’t deliver –
Until, that is, we climbed the mound
Which stands alone not far away:
Tel Gerisa, where Napoleon found
He could the coastal plain survey.
Although surrounded today it be
By high-rise blocks and ‘scrapers brash,
Its rugged landscape speaks to me,
As does the scarcity of trash.
Apart from manic cyclist scramblers,
Who roller coast the dipfilled tracks,
Most of the folk, like me, are ramblers
Seeking solitude the lowland lacks.
They always let their dogs run loose,
Enabling me to do the same;
And Milky is no shy recluse –
Once leashless, friendship is her game.
Through her, it should be said, I meet
Many a person kind and good,
Whom otherwise in park or street
Pass by without a glance I would.
And here’s a fascinating fact:
With cats and jackals she also plays.
Nowadays, it’s clear, she is attacked
Only by leash-led curs, not strays.
The problem’s when the hill’s deserted
And Milky cannot socialize;
Since, being sweet and extraverted,
It’s pals she seeks, not exercise.
Then she will suddenly disappear,
In search of company-cum-food,
Preferably a busy pizzeria;
Homing at last when in the mood.
Meanwhile, of course, we anxious are
Because of the local canine laws;
Also, she could be struck by a car
Or accident to others cause.
I feel, however, we have to let
This God-sent wounded healer be
A natural rover and a pet;
A guardian angel and spirit free.
19 September 2023