How Is It?

How is it that an Irish Wolfhound meeting a Chihuahua
in Dublin, Moscow, Mexico, New York or Okinawa
will read its body language better than I read a book,
seeing if it means to play or fight, with just one look?

How can a clever Border Collie gambol with a Chow
who thinks herself the cat’s meow or holier than thou?
Or a depilated Xolo or a frisky Hairless Terrier
romp with a Bearded Collie and could not be any merrier?

How is it that a frill-necked Schipperke or Saint Bernard
can lark with Dachshunds, Basset Hounds or Greyhounds in the yard
regardless of the sundry coats in which they are attired,
cavorting till their tongues all touch the turf and have perspired?

Dogs aren’t perfect. Rhea sometimes fights with Razz, because
she craves the latex lizard or the bully stick he gnaws.
How is it, though, we bipeds often shun a fellow man
for sporting skullcap, turban, or a slightly darker tan?


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