Rescue   They found you on the street, in Ponce, broken, half-starved and shivering, filthy, still just a pup. You slept, and when you awoke   the dead leg was gone. You lived and they spelled your name Trooper and you knew to be loyal — there’s no other way. You wolfed your food, held   back your bark. You took no interest in toys but played till you were spent with pleasure. Stroking you, we breathed Good boy, Trooper — good boy.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont January 2018