Rufus looks up adoringly from
where he lies curled up against the pillow
the perfect little sweetheart of a dog.
Who would guess that at any given moment
a hapless passerby down our street would
elicit a firestorm of barking, growling, racing
in circles, standing on hind legs on the arm
of the couch to ascertain they have gone
by as they should, without pause, without
breaking and entering, without attempting
murder or mayhem against Mother, Brother, Miles?