When I look into his eyes,
I sense his acknowledgement,
Old friend,
Assured as his presence by my feet.
Constant, uncontested, welcome.
Ten years I have walked with him,
But thousands more in one form, or another…
First leading and straining,
Only to heel at his own behest,
Now trailing and resisting
Pining now for home and rest
His muzzle now grey
I pick the sleep from the corner of his eye,
Contemplating a time
When once again, I walk alone,
his lead resigned to an empty nest.
