Apology

I apologize for finding this dog to shadow you even as you pace the attic from desk to window, you and he, a pair now, contemplating those tough computer programming issues at which dogs notoriously shine. He accompanies your every step. I’m sorry he curls into a protective C near the head of the stairs in case an intruder prowls through the rest of the house to find you; protects you in his guardian curl but fails to bark unless, of course, the intruder thinks to use the doorbell and then, I’m sorry I brought home this dog who joins the clamor of the clapper and dashes and woofs and raises the roof. I am sorry I chose this dog who walks with a loose leash by your side, calmer than a summer wind, calmer than the yogi, tail swinging, mouth in a big, wide laugh and you must walk and walk and walk him and he draws you outdoors in black, in wet. I am sorry this dog lures you from your work; this dog holds you close to home; this dog empties your pocketbook; this dog compels you to love him. I’m sorry.