Let My Sleeping Dog

I watch the up and downing of my sleeping dog’s belly. Curled tighter than usual because of the cold, pretending to be half his real size. Sometimes he snores, sometimes he dreams; his ankles and eyelids alive with imaginary adventures. Occasionally he lets out a volley of high-pitched woofs, quite different from his gruff awake bark.
   His ears are becoming quite white, his eyes are not as good as they were, but he is cheerful and chipper. He enjoys his walks, playing with his toys and his occasional dervishes around the living room; when his ears lie flat and he remembers he is really a wild thing.