So Much Depends on the Dogs

The dogs wake up every day to a new day. They don't think about yesterday or tomorrow in their dreams. Dogs don't dread.

When the dogs are tired they sleep. When they're hungry they eat. When they have to pee they ring a little bell at the door to ask for help. They need someone to open the door for them, so they can go out, on a leash, to do their business in the dirt. They sniff the air for clarity to check the status of the street.

The dogs smell things I can't see, things I don't know about. They smell bugs in the leaves, rain in the trees, and deer in the woods.

They hear school buses three blocks away and run down the stairs, hearts a flutter and tails a-wagging. They live for the moment a child pats their head, says words they don't understand, and slips them a bite of forbidden food.

The dogs depend on me, yet so much depends on the kindness and wonder of them. I'm not sure I could do it without them.