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You were my first dog.
 
I chose you, a howling armful of blueblack furred energy,
Chosen because of your equine likeness, wild and free;
Chosen because of a lost love, and a love needed;
Chosen because of what is and always will be

And you metamorphised into a regal.
Bearing straight and aired nose.
Night-sheened satin coat. Bright eyes all seeing.

I was your slave, and rightfully so.
You brought more to me than I ever did to you.

Your kingdom, though, was not a throne. It was
Cavorting with gulls on Connecticut beaches,
Racing my Ghia in Illinois corn fields,
Following horses in Pennsylvania pastures,
Hiking orchards and Vermont mountains.

And under a full moon
I took your ashes to the beach
And cast you to the winds and waves.

But never out of my heart.
Never.

You were my first dog.