Dog Years

for Max

We walk in the morning
while he scents gray air,
pulls me from tree to tree.

He pauses, leaves reminders
at the usual places. Fourteen
years. Long enough

to learn to avoid geese
(they peck), ducks
(don’t follow them into water)
skunks (tomato juice stinks too);

to differentiate the hard clink
of leash against collar
from the rattle of kibble
in a metal bowl.

My dog years number only six
and I have no nose
for staying out of trouble.