What the Dog Thinks When We Leave the House

From the moment we leave home

Until the time that we return

The dog is worried.

She jumps onto the sofa or our scented bed,

keeping her vigil.

She knows nothing of our air-conditioned offices

or malls or restaurants. She must assume, then,that we leave and walk for hours along the route she knows:
Past the yellow, hissing cat.

Past the yard with frantic beagles.

Has the black-mawed Chow four houses down made mincemeat
of our calves?

Did the postman in the light blue pants accost us?

Dear God, has the UPS man in his snarling brown cube of a

truck run over us?

The dog calls up a hundred dangerous scenes.

She has acquired her knowledge empirically
(by run-ins with these evil-doers) or by
watching through the window.

When at last we come home safely, her joy is total.

She wags herself into a circle; her face floods with relief

as if to say, “You are unharmed. You’re whole. I can relax.”

I wait until she’s finished sniffing me – especially my shoes – for

signs of damage. On the couch she crawls up next to me.

I stroke her face and haunches and croon her name

in gratitude for her concern.