Dear Harley

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.