You creep from the shadows to accept a piece of meat by the fire before disappearing back into the brush.
You protect the cave from beasts and marauders sleeping just outside the mouth.
You are invited inside for warmth; for convenience.
Staving off loneliness, we roam hillsides together, eat together.
You sleep just outside.
Children go outside to play with you, scratching your head, wrestling, chasing.
They come inside to eat and sleep, closing the door as you curl up on the porch.
Scraps thrown from the kitchen window keep you nearby during the day.
We roam hillsides together, hunt together, eat together.
You sleep just inside the door.
Days begin with a pat on the head and a bowl of food.
You wait by the door while we toil.
Arriving, we eagerly offer pets, snuggles, food.
You offer companionship and diversion.
You sleep beside the bed.
I chose you from the multitude behind chain-link. Waiting. Hoping.
On the ride home, you sit on my lap.
Together, we walk inside.
I offer food, water, and comfort.
You give love unconditionally.
We spend days together without words; yet comprehend each-other’s needs.
I think of you as I toil; you wait by the window.
Days start and end with you.
You sleep curled up by my side.
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