My dog stands rooted to the
Spot where he stands.
I have called him
But in his mind
He can’t obey.
His usually verdant yard
Is now covered
In splotchy grey ice.
Some primal instinct
Is speaking to him.
Telling him not to go across.
The hard frozen surface.
I watch him and feel
His mind working.
Looking right and left
He finally finds
His way back to me
And jumps up,
Pleased with himself
And this reunion.