Dogs tear at rawhide,
Seemingly, utterly, preoccupied,
Until the instant I arise,
From futon to entryway,
Suddenly, all attentions on me,
Two black bodies shadow mine,
Intently fixated as magnets to metal,
For food? For tennis balls?
For the sake of security?
For faith or lack there of?
For fear of loss? For walks?
With hope for love?
For naught, the instant I sit again,
They are asleep at my feet.
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