The Dog’s Woods

Yesterday I passed the place on the running trail
where if there would be a dog who attacked me,
he would be. I only knew I was meeting an agreement
I made with myself to run four miles, and that no dog
impeded it. He must have been busy or too cold
to come rile me, and when I cleared his jurisdiction
I thought of the first time I was chased by this dog.
He nipped at my calf and I smiled saying go home.
Every run seems difficult, then finishes. Before bed,
a headlight flash on my window made me think
this relationship of mine may not last,
the thought worse than losing,
then the Joni lyric, the bed’s too big,
and I had the stab that makes me reach
for a handmade stuffed animal a friend’s wife
sewed when my dog died and place it behind my back.
The yarn shape resembles him. She used a button
for the eye that gives when I tug, enough to trust
the hold of the string. The dog subsided,
floated back; pain was calming me.
I imagined standing at a podium
to speak, then passing the dog’s woods
stirring nerves away, like some old whale in the sea
unnoticed, rarely seen.