When I leaned over this morning
to get a closer look at the ants
circling the edge of the sink
in the usual ant parade,
I realized they were much too tiny
to slip on a bathrobe,
read a magazine, or wear a wedding ring.

A dog, on the other hand,
will sometimes allow itself to be dressed up
whenever its owner indulges in a bit
of anthropomorphic skylarking.

Yes, the same creature known
to bolt through a screen door
or dig up a bed of petunias with its nose

may sit still on occasion,
playing doctor in a white lab coat,
or pose chin-strapped to a birthday hat,
candles dancing in the background.

In Colorado, I once saw a dog in a tuxedo
walk down an aisle and give the bride away.

But dogs are happiest on their own,
stepping on their water bowls,
staring up at the mystery of a closed door,
walking from room to room
before making three circles
like the odd number of flowers in a vase.

And I’m happiest every morning
when my dog steers me
into the kitchen where I slowly
open yet another can of dog food,
as we hold our mutual gaze,
me reading his mind and he reading mine.

This is drawn from “Dog Show.”