The chase

by joetwo

The ball flies through the air in a shallow arc,

A hairy blur in hot pursuit.

With a immaculately timed, infinitely precise jump,

She grabs her prey from the air.

There is a spring in her step as she saunters back

To lay her prize at the feet of her master.

Eyes up, willing the act, to throw again,

To repeat the cycle of chase and capture.

To run until the vast stores of energy are spent

and then to lie in panting contentment.

The noble rest of the hunter

Living life’s sweet moment.