My dog and I trudge through the snow.
I blaze a crooked trail.
"Heel, old fellow, heel," I say.
He wags a sullen tail.
The while I pause and palpitate
Where the foothills rise,
He's eager to be off again,
A challenge in his eyes.
I speculate on going back
To pleasant hearth and haven.
His hackles rise; the thought of it
Is impudent and craven.
At last his abject yielding
Has turned to canine scorn.
"Heel, man, heel". . .he bounds away
Into the drifting storm.
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