I

I think it a clever
pre-emptive move when
I order him a vest
with the stitched message:

"Please Don't Kick The Dog."

No need to tell you
how that works out.

So I take the vest back
to the fire pit and he and I
watch it burn.

                 II

I take my dog for a walk
and, tugging on his leash,
he pulls me along, nose
to the ground, wandering
here, there and everywhere,
stopping now and then
to strategically ***,
living an adventure I can
only remotely share.

                 III

My dog, seated, lifts a leg
to lick himself down there
and looks a little puzzled.

They're gone, of course.

I pat his head,
offer him a meaty treat.

"Sorry Butch," I say,
"I was only following the vet's advice.
Try not to hold it against me,"
then I offer up my hand.

Lick or bite? It's up to him.