My dog, Kit, struts
on the last half block
of our walk.

He was successful
in diverting me to the retirees’ home
where belly rubs and bacon treats waited.

A careless squirrel
passed within less than a foot of him.

If Kit was less full
he might have caught it

(at least that is what I think
he tells himself
as he struts home).

I am hungry after all the side quests.
I call the pizzeria to put in my order.

Kit starts howling
at the words “chicken fingers”.

He knows that means it’s pizza night.
He knows there will be left over crusts
and more belly rubs.

The girl on the other end laughs.
She hears him too.

“Can you imagine that,” I say,
“He was actually shy when we first rescued him?”