In the realm of profound simplicity, my intellect aligns with that of a loyal canine.
Allow me to surrender to the pull of your unseen tether, succumbing to a journey where frothing
lips and bloodied coughs blend seamlessly with the rhythmic dance of my tail.
Your raised hand, a silent command, elicits a flinch in my essence, yet I return unfailingly, with
humility veiled beneath the curve of my lowered tail.
In my dim-witted loyalty, I harbor the illusion that my devotion might weave a spell to keep you
close, a futile hope betrayed by the inevitable truth: old dogs, it seems, are impervious to
mastering novel tricks.
My love mirrors that of a streetwise mutt, embodying a pathos both pitiful and desperate, a
voracious appetite devouring every morsel you set before me, a fear that the pace of my fervor
may never relent.
I find solace in the shadow of your feet, below you, always yearning for proximity. Grant me, oh
grant me, entry into the sanctum of our shared repose, where dreams once painted the picture of
a hunter and his bloodhound, now eclipsed by the stark reality of unfulfilled promises.
In this transformation, I metamorphose into a Rottweiler in the ring, a Greyhound coerced into
an unrelenting sprint, shedding the gentle facade for a display of snarls, growls, and bites—a
grotesque distortion of my former self.
Apologies, tender and laden with regret, flow for the mange-ridden coat and the lost softness, for
ticks and fleas contaminating my essence. I lament the claws etched across your abode, the
muddy imprints staining pristine floors, my remorse echoing the pain of wounds inflicted upon
you.
In moments of self-reflection, my gaze follows the scars etched by my own incisors, a biting
nature etched into my being, a violence both learned and reciprocated.
I gleaned this harsh wisdom from the BBs nestled beneath my skin, from the scars and calluses
etched onto my paws by scorching summer asphalt, from the indelible imprint of your heavy
boot upon my abdomen, and the frostbitten tail severed in the distant past.
Does love, then, manifest as an unspoken agreement to be metaphorically tethered, left
languishing in a sweltering confinement with sealed windows? Alas, as a canine devolves into a
varmint, the perceived necessity of her presence wanes, and the chains that once bound us are
loosened.