| THE
DIGGER’S DOG ©
Rita Diplock
He’d had his twentieth birthday; he was young and fancy
free.
He had
a job he liked, a loving home and family,
But he
was taken from them with no recourse to debate.
A number
on a marble was the instrument of fate.
His plans to build a future were at best now put on hold,
Conscripted
to the army, he would do as he was told.
He was
trained to be a soldier and sent to fight a war
With no
clear understanding of what he was fighting for.
The killing fields of Vietnam had trip wires, traps and pits
And passive
land mines lay in wait to blow a man to bits.
The army
had decided dogs were needed in this war.
They’d
train the dogs and use them in a way not done before.
They had no breeding programs and dogs must be got with speed
So from
the nearby pound came dogs bought cheap to fill the need.
And there
was one that caught their eye that they could not ignore.
From death
row for a pittance came this matchless dog of war.
When from a helicopter he was winched down though the air
Or riding
in the trucks and tanks, he’d never turn a hair.
With flying
colours while he trained, that dog passed every test
And when
they teamed the man and dog, he knew he’d got the best.
The dog with its keen senses picked up trails he could not
see.
The soldier
learned to follow on and trust implicitly.
Unheeding
of distraction with his nose down to the ground
He’d
drag his handler onward till the quarry had been found.
At times the dog would look at him, head over to one side
And with
the way he did it could encourage or deride.
He’d
sit upon the soldier’s foot when danger lay ahead.
He did
that often, often, if he hadn’t they’d be dead.
And sometimes in the night when there were shells exploding
near
The soldier
stayed beside the dog to calm him in his fear,
And though
it meant he’d have to stay with him the whole night
through
He didn’t
think it duty; it was what a mate would do.
And every night the soldier checked his dog from nose to tail
To find
the little injuries he’d picked up on the trail.
For wounds
could soon turn septic, as did stinging insect bites,
The steamy
jungle spawning ground for bugs and parasites.
The dog would always play a game when it was time to eat.
He’d
bring his dish across and lay it at the soldier’s feet.
And as
the soldier made the meal he’d talk and tease his mate,
The dog
would wait, tongue lolling out for him to fill the plate.
His tour of duty almost done and counting down the days
The soldier
planned to keep the dog, a team of two always.
His faithful
dog had earned a rest the tired soldier knew,
As he
was battle weary so his canine mate was too.
His safe return back home the answer to his parents’
prayer,
A cross-bred
dog the guardian that kept him in its care.
But then
his world turned upside down the day he was to find
Though
he was going home, his faithful dog would stay behind.
He begged and argued for the dog but no reprieve could gain,
The army
was inflexible; his efforts were in vain.
And when
he went to see the dog the day he went away
He’d
planned to give him one last meal and one last game to play.
Before he got inside the fence, the dog saw him and came
First
picking up its empty dish and eager for a game.
And as
he looked into its eyes it looked into his mind.
He knew
the dog could tell that he was being left behind.
The soldier
couldn’t hold that gaze and had to turn away
For there
was nothing he could change and nothing he could say.
Then right
between the shoulder blades it hit him as he went,
The ringing
sound of metal as it’s dropped onto cement.
When later on that day he left upon an Army plane
He made
a vow that one day he would find his dog again.
The joy
of going home was gone and seeking for relief,
Elixir
from a bottle helped to numb the soldier’s grief.
Back home again and in a job, small peace could this man find.
He has
a lasting legacy, a restless, switched on mind.
And when
the war was over though he tried to trace his mate
Was always
unsuccessful and still wonders on its fate.
And still he thinks about the dog, although by now it’s
dead
And then
the sound of metal on cement plays in his head.
And sometimes
when he drinks too much, he thinks that sound to kill,
But still
it follows him around; he thinks it always will.
I wish
to always hold copyright.
Regards
© Rita Diplock |
