Dogs of Summer

there's magic in dogs of summer, unbridled love of every odor, snapping greedily at buzzing flies, running amok in sweet grass and sky, eyebright, they call the world to play rough games over and over again, you're their sun and stars, gone for a minute, away for a day, every second counts in their desperate yet comical loneliness, how can a tail wag the whole dog? how can that impossible tongue sit in that godawful breath? perching like penguins on the hassock or chair, blocking the telly, Hey, You! I'm here! but the cosmic joke, punchline yet to be told, is that their lifelines aren't made to match ours, flaring like wooden matches, burned down to the quick, is it to ensure that our lives are filled with love renewed, gifted the second chance, to take advantage of time, with the ultimate friend? if we all knew that our lives were measured in years of a dog, would our noses lead us to love more and would we consider heaven the sod?