He's Only A Dog

Really now, think of it; he simply
is not aware he's only a dog. A
lovely dog, to be sure, a loyal companion
easy to please, always there prepared to
listen, to offer empathy, never unwanted
advice. The perfect companion, but
he's only a dog. He is tall and darkly
handsome -- a chocolate Lab. His
attention focused on her. Except,
needless to add, when they're in 
the woods and he joyously lopes 
along the trails, chasing squirrels.
But he faithfully returns to the one 
he loves, for he's only a dog. She gives
him hope for the future but he has no
inkling. He hasn't a clue that he has
epilepsy and that she stretches her income
for his medication. He has no idea that
his nine-year-old haircoat has become
threadbare because of allergies to the
medication that saves his life. She
can acquire for herself a winter coat
from second-hand shops but he goes
first class in a costly, double-snug winter
coat. Does he really care? Not much.