Canine Church

Two dogs to my right and one dog o’er my head
As I lie on the edge of my doggie-filled bed.
Now one moves to my legs to anchor me down,
fearing my desertion for kitchen or town,
banishing canines to cushions or yard––
beds they find  chilly and lonely and hard.

Better this bed warmed by blanket and sheet
and a mattress pad heater to thaw out their feet.
A mom they can cuddle or lie on, or heck––
tunnel into her armpit or under her neck.
These Sunday mornings, they insist that Judy’s
meditations with dogs are her spiritual duties.