I love Harley. I wish he was my dog.
For years, I have watched him as he trotted across
his human parents' lawn to greet me,
the spring in his stride and muscles rippling
under his gray ghost coat.
He's older now, and sometimes would rather
bask in the sun than check out a squirrel invader
or come over to me to be adored and get
his chest scratched. But his profile
is beautiful, and he remains confident
that he is loved and admired by all,
including his neighbor.