Walking the Dog

Lovely October afternoon, isn't it?

"Quite so," I say,
my hand entwined in the black fur
of the she-wolf walking at my side.

We've passed these trees many times,
with a "Good day," and an "I'm fine,"
to every smiling well-wisher
on the sidewalk.

"Liar," Niur barks under her breath,
and I shake her mane a little.
She is always trying to shatter the
facade I create so carefully.

I have to keep calm, after all.
One of these days I'm going to meet
myself in this haunted park
and recognize the ghost for what it is.
And then I'll be sorry.

That's what Niur says,
annoyingly correct as usual.
Lucky she is the dog and I am the master,
she hasn't beaten me yet.

"May we go around again?" she asks.

"Yeah, alright."