I’ve never had a little dog before, excepting when I was a baby, living in San Pedro, California, and that was so long ago, I can barely remember. Her name was Gypsy. She was white with brown spots and very friendly. Gypsy used to tag along after daddy and me when he took me for a ride in my baby carriage.
Now, I’m nine-years-old and live in Los Angeles in a big house set back from the street on Crenshaw Blvd. My father has a sign shop not far away on the same street. That’s why we live here; it’s close to his work.
There is a pretty little garden in the back with a fishpond. I love to feed the goldfish and watch them swim in and out of the lily pads. One day I saw some long stings of white jelly dots floating in the water. Grandma said they were fish eggs and would soon be hatching. I sit by the edge of the pond, fascinated, for long periods of time, watching, to see when they might hatch.
I have to amuse myself at play, since there are very few friends I can make here. It’s not a residential district where many families live. But there is a little girl named Sally who lives next door. Sometimes she comes over and we play in the garden making mud pies but not very often, as she travels a lot with her parents. She’s always eating Baby Ruth candy bars and shares them with me.
On sunny days in the afternoon, when my homework is finished, I sometimes go out to the sidewalk in front of the house and jump over the shadows of cars and they race by. Mother gave me a box of colored chalk so I can draw a hopscotch. I find that key chains or four to five safety pins linked together, make the best lagers.
This Christmas, Santa brought me a new little puppy with a big, red ribbon around her neck. She is a black and tan Terrier and so cute. I named her “Poochie.” She follows me around wherever I go and sleeps on my bed by my feet at night. On real cold nights, when grandma uses a hot water bottle or hot iron to keep her feet warm, I don’t need one. My Poochie keeps me warm. She is the best friend I’ve ever had. We have moved ten times within the last ten years because of my father’s business and I’ve had to change schools. That always makes me sad because I lose all my new school friends. But now, I have Poochie. She will be my friend forever. When we move again, into a bigger, better house, Poochie will come with us.
Oh, here comes grandpa Archie back from the store. He’s crossing Crenshaw and carrying Poochie in his arms. Her head is hanging and her legs are limp. Oh no! I think she is dead.
“Archie, what happened to Poochie, what’s wrong with her?”
“Poochie followed me to the market and I didn’t know she was right behind me, crossing Crenshaw at the busy intersection. She was hit by a car.”
My heart sank. My dear beloved Poochie, the best friend I ever had, is now gone. Why do we have to always lose the ones we love?

POOCHIE
by Mary L. Ports

Poochie, my black and ten terrior,
that sweet little puppy of mine,
would romp and play all the livelong day,
my love, she would never decline.
She warmed my feet on the bed at night
and snuggled up closer, by morn.
I’ll never forget my dear little pet
and the day my heart ripped and was torn.
My grandpa had gone to the market
and Poochie decided to go,
but came back dead in my Archie’s arms;
She was hit by a car – what a blow!

Copyright © 2008 Mary L. Ports