Every morning at half past 7 I rise
and battle through the mist with a Great Pyrenees
by my side.
We lunge through muddy tracks and grasses,
senses pricked for the next fleet being.
My body, taut and braced, will not relinquish him
to the dash of a rabbit ahead,
to the clustering sheep in the wide open field,
or even to the chicken who begins to follow
with some huge and unrequited love
for this mad, hurtling dog.
My arms feel steel to hold him in place,
to quell wild and dangerous freedom,
to bring him back to my pace.
We continue on in solidarity,
in stops and starts for miles,
in the give and take
of a kinaesthetic empathy,
at once slave and soulmate to each other.