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.

Harley

This is Harley, a member of the Weimaraner breed, 

one of the most beautiful dogs ever.

He is sitting at the door of his family's home, 

watching the action in the neighborhood.

I always look for him when I walk past

the house because I never tire of watching

his springy stride as he follows his humans around

their yard or trots over to greet me.

His taut body covered by shiny coat

is aptly described by the phrase "gray ghost,"

words that are emphasized when he stands in

the doorway, his form contrasting sharply

with the background.