To those who say, he’s just a pet,
I cock my head and bark away nonsense.
Only a ruptured appendix
can wrench me
from this pawed, perilous couch
where my terrier lies,
head on my belly.
My weighted white blanket. Bear.

He adjusts his rump,
settles like a quiche
I dare not jiggle
at a delicate juncture.
Almost a senior,
his shorty coat has grown curly,
his lightning pace
delayed thunder.

Fewer solo escapades, rare forays
to the creek edged with poison ivy.
Mostly walks, reasonable duration,
those kohl-lined eyes approve,
direct my actions. Treat? Dog Park?
Mutual unspoken, un-woofed adorations.

He shadows
when panic overtakes me.
Together we hunt for my phone,
misplaced glasses.
Wonderland’s Cheshire Dog,
smiling.

To those who say, he’s just a pet,
I cock my head and bark away nonsense.
He will defy the dragons
I can’t foresee,
lead me over icy mountain passes.
I will muscle him aloft
in shark-infested seas; wisk from owls,
hawks, wild beasts.
My weighted white blanket. Bear.