For Ollie:

My Dog’s Breath

I was afraid it would smell of dog food,
cat food, pet smart express.
I was afraid he would mature and
that wet doggy smell would be
the informing characteristic of his presence.
I was afraid he would have ugly dog feet,
where the thick dark nails protrude
at the end of his toes. But no,
he still smells of summer grass, from his
warm vulnerable head and clean deer ears,
to his corn muffin feet, which, rolling
on his back, he stretches skyward, all four
at once in a bouquet of legs.
His ruff of soft-coarse hair curls down round
about his neck or becomes a faux Mohawk
along the line of his spine. I press my
nose into his beating heart side, squeeze his small fat flank,
a life-saving meal in a disaster, and kiss the sweet spot
between his eye and nose. When did he stop
being dog and become love?

d.stein
October 2009