The waiting-room man
told me about his fifteen-year-old
sheepdog, recently attacked
by a vicious roving canine.
I felt guilty as I sat
waiting for the pampered cat
to be boostered and elicit delight.
Across me to his man
leapt a glossy exuberant dog.
A whole animal
with an energy I coveted.
The plastic cone in place
now the only trace
of how that life had hung by a thread.
