A Manifestation of Dogs

Last night I dreamt up some small dogs,
the kind I rarely really like, not that I don’t like
all dogs, but I prefer my dogs on the large side,
not for protection but for substance, a dog I can get
my arms around, that I can wrestle with, not a dog
I might break, or that might escape under the gate
as one anxious Chihuahua that I sat did a decade ago
when I wasn’t watching. Who would anticipate she could
slip through that gap, and then the guilt I felt
when I realized she was missing and had to face the neighbor
down the block who found her in his driveway. Did I tell
the owner of this close call? I don’t remember. Probably not.
Anyway, these dream dogs followed at my heels, not tiny
but below the knee, like a little fleet of fleecy sheep,
and they seemed to love me, in their way. They were not the kind
I could carry in a purse, but in my dream, I said to someone,
Maybe it’s not so bad after all to have a couple of lap-sized dogs
around. They weren’t yappy dogs. They were just there
being themselves, nearby when needed. Small blank slates,
something to draw upon.