Poetry Power: “Birddog”

As we near the end of first semester, The Olympian is delighted to share senior Oli Baker’s poem, “Birddog.” “This piece is about a relationship that was very dear to me. It’s framed as a relationship between a dog and person and person and dog,” they explained. “Dogs are the picture of unwavering loyalty, and I wanted to explore the betrayal that the dog feels.”

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You came to my back door, screened to
keep out the bugs. You have a cardinal in your
Mouth and I yelled at you: you slunk
away, all I felt was pity and rage: and I
can’t remember why I was so
angry.

Now it’s my turn:
I show up at your front door,
stick my nose through the cat flap
that I’m too big to fit through.
It’s your turn to yell
and say
Why would you give me this?
The present is me. I wanted to make you
proud.

We’re walking together, hand in hand
and the sidewalk is interrupted by a tree
caged, roots cut.
Is it happy?
We let go, walk around
and rejoin after we leave the tree behind.
I am changed: you are not.
Are we the same? Or are we different?

We have not known each other for years:
you chose your path, I chose mine;
you hunting cardinals, me poking
my nose through the cat flap.
You wait to be invited, I
try to get in: doesn’t matter what they think,
I am here, and you are not.

Maybe we sit down for coffee, we
kiss each other on the nose: miss you, love you.
Maybe we walk by each other on the street
and we don’t even recognize the other.

All I remember is sitting on the porch,
sticking my nose through your door, and the
hurt in your voice when you saw me.
All you remember are the feathers in your mouth
and the anger in my voice when I saw you.

Are we strangers? Are we lovers? Or we
friends? Are we all of them, together?

I think we are two dogs: you’re a shepherd, I’m
a malamute
and our paws are caked in snow and
our mouths are full of feathers.