Here's a poem-- another poem about a dog.
This one is one of the sonnets.
Going to read like five more.
"All I Did for Him," it's called.
"When I fought the dog we almost danced.
We loved each other that much, and he was strong,
not counting even his teeth and claws.
And I had trouble pushing against him,
even though his shoulders were weaker in that position.
Nor was he intended, as Aristotle might say,
for fighting standing up like that,
the way maybe a bear was more intended.
Or certainly an ape, with his gross imitation of a human.
Or a human of him, if I could step into that muck a minute.
And he was taller than me, as I remember,
which made him huge for a dog, and made
me feel small standing on two legs with my weak left knee
impaired, as it was.
And smelling his breath, and shocked by his giant head,
and what had to be a look I never expected in his eyes,
though I had to know it would be like that.
For who was I anyhow, to bicker as I did, or think that love,
as I called it, all I did for him, the food and water I
gave him I could barter?
I couldn't even find my pocket.
I couldn't take out a dollar."