Animal Heat

March 14 2020

The dog sleeps

on the covered porch

curled-up against the cold,

in the cranny beside the door

where two walls intersect.

She follows the sun

which tends to linger there,

beaming in

to this sheltered corner

with surprising warmth.

Where, despite my urging

she refuses to come inside,

into the overheated gloom

of stale air

and cooking smells,

the odour of habitation

she knows so well.

While outside

in the bracing air

the world is her own.

Nose twitching

at infinitesimal scents.

Head raised

at some insensible sound.

Thrashing legs

as she slips into sleep

and dreams of hot pursuit,

the hunt, the chase, the pack.

And how frail am I

bundling-up to venture out?

Every time

fussing with zippers, fasteners

laces and straps,

snugging down

my winter mitts

and thick wool cap.

How deaf and blind and flat.

How consumed

by abstract worry.

How distracted

by thoughts of the past

and future plans,

the self-important ambition

at which God only laughs

and contingency dismisses.

Impervious

to the subtle world

in which she exults,

eyes and ears alert,

hair-trigger nose

close to the ground.

Inured to the cold

in her animal heat

and winter coat.

The atavistic urge of dogs;

our loyal companions

still wild at heart.

Skookum has always been an outdoor dog. She seems indifferent to cold, even at 10 1/2 years of age – and counting.

I can only envy her: how she perceives a world to which I'm oblivious; how, like a master of Zen, she lives in the moment; and how beautifully adapted she is to the harsh extremes of nature.

How she waltzes out, as is, not matter how hot, cold, or wet; unconcerned, and seemingly impervious.