And then, the good dog poem is called "Dharma."
And dharma, I think, means your spiritual essence or destiny.
It's not the dog.
The dog's name is Janine, which is a rather far cry
from dharma, I suppose.
But the poem is called, "Dharma."
"The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money or the keys to her dog house,
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.
Who provides a finer example of a life without encumbrance.
Thoreau in his curtainless hut with a single plate,
a single spoon?
Gandhi, with his staff and his holy diapers?
Off she goes into the material world with nothing
but her brown coat and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose, the twin portals
of her steady breathing, followed only
by the plume of her tail.
If only she did not shove the cat aside every morning
and eat all his food.
What a model of self containment she would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes.
If only I were not her god."