Drowsing, I hear her yipping dream, feel
her climbing my hip through rhythmic breaths.
She is my squirrel dog who can’t hunt, fretful
and brain-hurt from seizures I ease with Valium
and Phenobarbital. The vet told me mountain
men hunting bear would send in their little
feists like her to worry the bear so they could
come in with their big dogs for the kill.
Here each night her deep sleep is what keeps
the mauling away. When the house is still
and receptive to ghosts, she burrows
in blankets, stretches out long, syncs
with the night’s measure and pulls
with the moon, a washing over our sleep.