My boy,

What have those eyes seen?

I know so precious little about you. A bait dog at a kill shelter in Victorville.

And you used to be afraid of dogs. Now you challenge German Shepherds to chase you. None have come close.

But what about the humans? What were they like?

I ask because another package came from Amazon.

As usual, the box went atop the pool table for slice-and-open.

And, as usual, you head out the dog door when the lockblade clicks.

As usual, you watch the box opening through the glass pane above your door, as if I were handling dynamite.

Finally, after peeking justyourhead beneath the plastic canopy and getting an “all clear” smile do you trot back in.

You seem to dislike the whole process, from incision to the tear of box and tape to the packing paper inevitably raining down.

Did your ex carry a knife? Or hate packages?

Unlike big dogs, your surgery queasiness suggests a deeper scar.

How I wish I knew what the world looks like through  your low-rider prism.

And, to tell you the truth, I love that you’re a pacifist.

The best soldiers always are.