My Dog Knows Me Well Poem by cahen thrips

My dog can smell cancers, detect
drugs in lead-lined trunks,
is pretty good at finding truffles;
he'll track a murderer over wet moorland,
lead me safely over a busy road,
make wise decisions on my behalf
protecting me from dangers I've
yet to see for myself.

He'll love me unreservedly
when all others see only my faults.
He sings along to Gerry Mulligan,
dances to Ornette Coleman
(no human can do that)
and often stares with me at far horizons.
He barks at butterflies though
I know it's only banter.

When I walk he shepherds me
as if expecting me to stagger,
never complaining when tired
I must turn back too soon.
His treasures are sticks and torn
tennis balls and if all I can do
is sit, he'll entertain me by
playing catch on his own.

We sleep beside each other,
he on a blanket on my bed;
dust is beaten from my mattress
by the pounding of his tail.
When I need to be quiet
he knows; and when I want to
be joyous, he brings me that joy
with one of his sticks.

I'm not sure he's aware of the future
but it never seems to bother him,
much less cause sleepless nights,
and if I in turn pace the floor
with anxious steps he watches
me as if concerned, for my dog
understands me far better
than I now understand myself.

And what will come of him?