Some days the Dog and I sit in the sun without talking.
We just sit there.
Once in a while one of us might lunge
at a bug flying by his jaw.
We just sit. We listen.
The Dog hears better than I.
Preceded by a long sigh:
Are you okay? he asks me.
After long pause:
so quiet, I tell him.
Dog sighs again.
You hear little, growls he,
so you think there is no noise.
Don’t go doggier than thou
on me, I warn.
He sticks his snout in my face
and bares his teeth. Silently.
I curl my lips into a smile, tail down.
I hear you loud and clear.
The Dog moves into the shade.