Winter Still

My dogs don’t make me reach between their legs
to light the fire. But they do sit right in front of it,
waiting and looking and wondering until it’s warm enough
for them to lie down and go to sleep on their cushy pads
and chairs, and they’re there when I leave, in the dark,
for school, and often there when I get home, often
in the dark. “May there be no sadness of farewell
when I embark.” They usually don’t even watch me
walk out the door. They know the drill. They’re smarter
than us all, smarter than the weather, smarter still.