Dog Catchers: Poem Analysis

Dog-Catchers

Thunder cracks outside, and I can hear my dog whimper. I laugh silently. ¨He´s 120 pounds, but yet he's still scared of thunder,¨ I whisper to myself as I turn to see the T.V. I look at the time; 7:25. I groan. What´s taking so long for dinner to be done? Why even did Mom decide to make dinner outside during a thunderstorm? It´s pouring! I get that she´s under the porch, but it doesn´t seem very wise. ¨Mom!¨ I cried out, glancing behind the couch. My mom pokes her head in. ¨Yes?¨ ¨Is dinner almost ready? I'm STARVING!!¨ ¨Almost,¨ she replies from outside, flipping the steaks, the wind outside howling. ¨They´ll be done in a minute. Why don’t you make yourself useful and take the fries out of the deep fryer?¨ ¨Fine,¨ I grumble,
thumping into the kitchen. I pull the handle up on the deep fryer, releasing an aroma of fried deliciousness and grease. I pour the freshly-fried fries into the dish. Mom opens the door with a plate in hand. “Dinner’s ready!” she sings. Thunder strikes again. Joey yelps and races outside INTO the rain, right past my mom. My mom gasps and races outside, the plate of grilled steak on the table. I panick. What should I do? Should I go out there and help, or should I stay in here? My 6th grade mind doesn't know what to do, so I grabbed the leash and raced outside into the storm to catch the dog. I close my eyes as the rain and wind slap me in the face, cold and wet. I look up to see the dark clouds looming over us, soaking everything underneath it.Wind whips my hair around like the trees in our yard. I’ve been outside for half a minute and I’m already soaked. But it doesn’t matter; I want to get my dog back, and fast. I race down the driveway, hair plastered on my face. I can see my mom frantically searching for him. I look around. Then I see a streak of back fur race across the street. “MOM!” I hollered. She turned around, her figure a silhouette in the darkness. I pointed down the street; in the direction I saw Joey. She nods and races over there, hair flying behind her. I follow behind her, staying on the side of the road. She madly searches. I see another streak of fur, then another. He’s reaching from one yard to another. I run down the street, searching madly myself. FInally, I hear Mom’s voice: “Julia! I found him!” She walks up the street with Joey at her side, dragging him by the collar.
I could see the relief and anger in her eyes. He pants and wags his tail at the sight of me. Sighing with relief,I race to him and hug him. He gives me a huge kiss. “I'm so glad you’re alright,” I said, I clip the blue leash onto his collar and hold onto him for dear life. Mom, Joey and I walk up the street, the rain beating our bodies and the wind chilling us to the bone. “You better not do that again,” I say, playfully hitting his nose, “because you’ll be in more trouble. Papa will be home.” After an hour of drying the dog of, drying ourselves off, and changing our clothes, Mom and I sit down at the dinner table, eating our semi-cold steak and fries. Mom smiles at me, and I smile back. “Julia,” my mom asks, grabbing a fry. “Let’s not tell this to Papa, okay?” I laugh. “Okay.” And I haven’t told anyone about this… until now. Oops. I think there’s supposed to be a moral of the story, because every story has a moral. Umm… well, I guess I’ll say that the moral of this story is to NEVER, and I mean NEVER, leave the door open, or even open the door, without knowing where your dog is. Because, let’s be real, you don’t want to chase your dog a half-mile down the street during a
thunderstorm.