I guess it's too late to get a dog

After Bernadette Mayer

I guess it's too late to get a dog.
I haven't been trained 
for the smoky warmth 
of an animal. 
I have never known how 
to inhale that damp, doggy smell,
how to keep my balance
at the friend's door 
when the dog pounces, 
sniffs me, scrambles with his paws 
like I'm the face of a cliff.
I don't know what to do
with all that love.

I guess it's too late to get a dog.
But I was born in The Year of the Dog.
There must be a little bit of dog in me.
I could roll in the grass, 
run round bushes and trees,
rumble with the sky, 
growl low, deep growls.
Then, maybe, I would understand dog 
and dog would understand me.
I'd slap my thighs,
call in a loud, dog-owner voice,
and he'd come running fast.
He'd charge me with his love.

I guess it's too late to get a dog.
But if I did get a dog,
I would gaze into those eyes –
those soggy, loving eyes –
that know me, look for me,
wait for me to come home.
I'd say, 'I've come home, boy,
I'm home.'
If I got a dog,
he would nose his big nose
under the warm duvet, 
sniff my feet, snuffle and huff. 
The silence would not be complete 
without his breath.

I guess it's too late to get a dog.

I haven't been trained

for all that love.   
But still I light the fire, 
we would sit beside –
him and me –
prepare to breathe 
that sweet wood scent,
that damp, doggy smell
and, with it, the rain and the earth.

From yesterday's NaPoWriMo prompt, this poem was inspired by Bernadette Mayer's 'Essay'. Mayer's poem begins, 'I guess it's too late to live on the farm...'