To cure my dog
of her errant ways,
I bought a vibrating collar,
clipped it around
the fat of her neck,
popped the tether’s hook
into the ring,
took her out for a spin.
See, she’s the type
that goes for the throat,
fellow canine or random kid,
it doesn’t matter.
Introduce her to a sidewalk
and she’ll find a suburban victim.
Bring her to the fields
and she’ll dangle nature
by the tail –
she’s that reactive.
They say it’s just her temperament,
her breed. Someone thought
it a good idea to introduce
Pitbull to shepherd
and facilitate a hot date.
Not my dog’s fault.
Genetics is a bitch.
Still, that slow turn
of the gadget dial,
gentle towards sting,
pains me, and I agonize,
what if I go too far,
playing some sick god
with the life of a dog?
The way we create
these choices for ourselves.
Like we’ve snapped free
of the leash,
lunging at the ones
who made us who we are.

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