I swear, dogs have a language
we’ll never fully learn. Words hidden
in the wag of a tail, coded
in the tilt of an ear.
But if there is a treaty
between species, it is cheese.
A sharp cheddar peace offering,
a stringy mozzarella truce.
I watch my dog’s eyes glow
like lanterns when the wrapper crinkles,
unveiling treasures she swears
were forged just for her.
There is trust in that offering.
No guile in the way
she snatches the morsel,
devours it like a prayer answered.
She licks her lips, hopeful still.
Because dogs know something we forget—
that life is precarious, and joy
sometimes smells faintly of dairy.