This dog is weary of the interruptions
Is it my fault that I occupy all there is?
You who stand so red-faced in the doorway
are merely jealous of my inalienable squatter’s rites.
I’m the one in the gentle hay, not you.
Why don’t you take your anger elsewhere.

Greed is in the eyes of the beholder.
I take up whatever space I need,
in the place that most suits me.
Why should I be shunted outside,
to lie on hard ground in bitter cold,
to risk my vulnerable flesh to wolf or bear or eagle?

Let me be your scribe...
the good’s gone.
Let me be your seer,..
there’s nothing now,
nor will there ever be,
anything for you here.

If it weren’t for this soft manger
there’d be nothing but your indignation.
How can I curl up and sleep on that?