A Nose to Follow

What's in a name? 
that which we call a nose
by any other name 
would smell as sweet.

What's in a nose? 
Though it might resemble most 
a charcoal briquette,
a Corgi's nose would still detect 
what's very best to eat.

 
I have been blessed with so many different noses,
and each of them has led me to a different place.
This is my Running Fast nose - not because it does -
but because with it I am fleet.


This is the nose I wear
for trying to see the faeries' saddle.

It is not so easy to see a faerie saddle,
which this nose may reflect;
I am not certain that it even looks like a nose anymore.
It has been trying and trying and it never gives up.

This is the Nose for Herding.
(Not every Corgi has one.) 
With this to guide me, I can find my flock
and bring every last one home.


This is the Wishing Nose; I wish that everyone could have one.
Wishing
with a Wishing Nose

can make the strangest, 

rarest, 

most unlikely,  
true.

 
This is the Nose for Luck.
Following this, one never knows 
what heavenly sort of being
might happen
to fall 
into one's life.

Ah, the Fly Away Nose.
This is not my favourite, although it has its place.

This is the one to wear

when who or what you love 
flies away from you
on the back of the West Wind, 
perhaps never to return.
No wonder it looks so sad and anxious. 

 

This is the Waiting Nose.

You can see that it turns up a little,

like hope in the unlikeliest of places.

This is a good nose to have in times of trouble.

Look at this funny little thing.
Is this a nose?
It looks to me more like a small raincloud
with lightning rising to it.
Or perhaps a tree,
standing all by itself.
This is the Nose of Missingness. It is not my favourite, either,
but sometimes it must be borne.

My very favourite:
the Nose for Happiness.
This comes in handy,
and is especially welcome
after one has been wearing the Nose of Missingness
even for the shortest while.


As you can see, a Corgi's nose changes from moment to moment.
And every moment in time makes for an entirely new experience.
If you follow your noses, you will know this.

xox Gizmo

The Beginning

I was born without any orange. 
My coat had no colour; nor had my collar, nor my tags.  
This was unimaginably embarrassing.

 

A bit later, my coat acquired its first hint of marmalade, 

but it was not the lovely shade that developed in time. 

Also, I looked as if I needed a better blow-dry. 

Or as if I had been caught in an electrical storm which had made all my hairs stand on end.
My ears had no pink, nor blue; I was merely a shadow of myself. 

But there was a twinkle in my eye. Which is, perhaps, all that matters.


xox Gizmo

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