About the Poems
by Marta Ferguson
Writing about Daisy gives me the space to make my peace with her. I adopted her when she was a year old. Her previous owners split up and moved--leaving her tied to the porch at their old house. She barked for 48 straight hours and it saved her life--some neighbors took her in, cared for her, and put signs up all of the University of Nebraska seeking an owner for a "beagle-mix" named Princess. She's been my best friend through two moves, a marriage and, now, motherhood. But our relationship has never been simple--her early history of abuse (the porch tie was only a last act of cruelty) and her native I-know-best temperament make her a difficult housemate sometimes. For example, she's a great thief and of late she's been stealing and eating dirty diapers when she's unhappy with us--the cloth she can sneak quietly from the basket and use to paint the floor as she feasts, but the gel in the disposables make her sneeze so uncontrollably she's all but immobilized by it. Still what I know of optimism in the face of impossible odds (Perhaps today I will get to eat your dinner!) and truly unconditional love, I've learned from her.