The dogs and we, with all our rituals
Of outings and of play around the house,
Have long since grown to be the best of pals,
As much as interspecies love allows.
Is there another species so attuned—
An ape perhaps but clearly not a cat—
As what the poet Chaucer called a hounde,
Companion in our common habitat?
For farmers and for hunters they do chores,
But mostly they are friendly household pets
Whom every doting householder adores
And, despite solicitude, has no regrets.
The two we have, our Gypsy and our Tig,
Keep our lives spinning like a whirligig.