You are coming.
You are so small, and your eyes protrude.
White exterior, you are pink beneath.
Upon first glance, this does not reflect
an innate ability to hold your own.
It suggests potential allergies, anxious tremors,
broken leg bone jumping from the couch.
Flinching in the face of larger forces:
passing cars, fireworks, retrievers
I can’t recall if
I’ve heard you bark
When I feared you might be deaf,
a doorknob turned in the other room
Foster mom calls you jack-in-the-box
she says you like to pounce
Upon introduction to the neighbor’s dog
you met her,
nose to nose
I withhold judgment,
sensing in you
both tender and brave
Sharp as a tack
quick in a jam
full capacity yet unseen
perhaps vigilant, and true
Our pack waits
under the winter moon
we listen for your name