by Beth Norman Harris

     Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I would lick your hand between the blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me do.

     Speak to me often, for your voice is the world’s sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.

     When it is cold and wet, please take me inside… for I am now a domesticated animal, no longer used to bitter elements. I ask for no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth… though had you no home, I would rather follow you through ice and snow than rest upon the softest pillow in the warmest home in all the land. For you are my master, and I am your devoted worshiper.

     Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for although I should not reproach you were it dry, I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst. Feed me clean food, that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side, and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger.

     And, beloved master, should the Great Master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you. Rather hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest… and I will leave you knowing with the last breath I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands.