"Shelter" by R. S. JonesYou paused outsideto look into my cage.I tried to play it rightwanting to catch your eyewith a shy glint in my own,a soft bark,that said, "Choose me,"in a canine grammarI hoped you'd understand.Your face held nothing(Pity maybe)that let me believeyou would ever wanta dog like me.You turned once,twice,a hundred times,coming and goingthe length of my cage.(Coming and goinglike you do now,ten times a day.)Then walked away.I could not stand another day ofstrangers coming to stare.Passing me over for younger dogs whoknew too little to have the strangelook of longingI could not keep from my eyes.I could not stand another nightalone in that placethe cracked cement floorthe howls and whines that kept me sleepless(Did you know that sound is still the one I hearwhen you wake me kicking from dreamssleeping in your bed?)Then suddenly you were back.I saw you glance at the cardhung onto my gate -a false name, a date of arrival,otherwise blankno age, no history,nothingthat would let you knowthat I would stay with you foreverand never go.You leaned your face into the fencecurling your hand through the wires,blinking in the sun.(Neither one of us so youngin the bright, Spring lightyet wanting to be.)I let one pawhover in the airbut looked away,not wanting to show my eagerness,but wantingto find a way to tell youthat I would be a good dogand how much I wanted to be owned.(A dog is only half himselfwithout a master.Unfinished, half-alive)I could not movenor speakbut when you dropped to your kneesand reached two fingers towards my furI felt myself fall,(oh god I could not help myself)letting my body form the wordshead back, eyes closedthroat exposed,legs flailing in the air."Please," I said. "Yes, please.Take me. Yes.""Unleashed: Poems by Writers' Dogs", edited by Amy Hempel and Jim Shepard, can be purchased through a number o