A cold wet nose being buried in your hand on a Sunday morning,
A best friend, soft ears, bittersweet pain of a wagging tail,
Brown eyes, large eyes, eyes of a dulled vision,
He seems to smile, sitting there, panting in this heat, happy again,
His time is coming, but there is no fear, unlike our selfish ilk,

He is my friend, this beast
Of black fur and white stomach
Of bad breath and long nails
Of a warm neck hugging close this winter.

-June 13th 2013