Bram

I must be an old bitch; my new collar is purple.

She's been thinking that poem for years

But my collar was a surprise.

Just yesterday she said I could pee

On the sidewalk, if I needed to. And I did.

There are more fresh bones in the evening.

"To keep my teeth clean." Sure.

But I know she doesn't care

About tooth wear, or how I look to others, now.

When I don't make it off the garden path before I 'go',

She never says a word. Before, she called me "Lazy",

Disapproved. So I must be getting old.

There are walks in the Park, for me alone.

No others butting in, knocking my old bones about.

We have long, quiet games of ball,

Together, she and I.

She says I'm not spoiled; it's just

That whatever I want is okay.

If this is 'old', it's not so bad,

In fact, it's mostly pretty fine. People fear it.

But I'm having fun. I hope it goes on a long time.