Sleeping Dogs - May 18 2024

 

Sleeping Dogs

May 18 2024

Surprisingly, the dogs let me sleep.

Instead of jumping on the bed

they retire to theirs,

and with a patience I’m incapable of

await my pleasure,

either defaulting to sleep themselves

or attentively eyeing me.

I wonder if this deference

is an expression of empathy

  —  which I believe dogs possess  —

or is simply a matter of hierarchy;

that I am the alpha

to their lower rank.

If only it were as simple

with our kind.

Who are never quite sure where we stand.

Struggle to find our place.

Revisit relationships

in a tacit back and forth

of concession and ascendency.

The pecking order shifts,

status is unclear.

But here, in this house, I am uber alles.

So it’s odd

that I obtain no licence

freedom

swagger from this.

Because despite my status

I am at their beck and call,

their utter dependency,

our compact of care.

At the mercy

of those liquid brown eyes

that both seduce, and implore;

looking up at me

with bright expectancy

inviting me to play,

or begging for food

and love

and belly rubs,

a scratch behind the ears.

The decider

and all powerful provider

who needs his rest.