Book of Dog, 1, and: Book of Dog, 2

Book of Dog, 1

In the book of dog, a few syllables contain the world, and you own them. You dole out car, home, sit, stay—for the sweet yelp, the whine. But at cookie, the wet mouth seizes,the low growl transforming Give it to meinto oh how I love you. The purelove we assign when the dog getswhat it wants. An approximation:

the husband of twenty-odd years walks out the door.He is wearing black jeans, the tight onesyou hate and that shirt against his nipples,advertising his thin life, the onewithout dogs. And you are leftwith their famously humble and contrivedI will look the other way. See howI study the air—the mote in the air—to convince you I do not want for anything:oh you dear one with the meat, your powerto give and take away. Oh if I look the other way,you will see my respect, you will soften, come back, give it to me.

Book of Dog, 2

She’s roaming closer, a shy dog after this morning’s rudeness— belly to the floor, head bent, asking may I lick your hand? She’s crawling to your chair, remembering not to bark. Does my breath still stink, can I sleep in your bed? What if I promise not to wake you, rolling over scratching an itch, Thump goes the tail on the wood floor.

Bless her everlasting guilt. Bless her eye on you.