Yellow Dog sprawls
by the side of the barn,
eyes half closed
against the dust.
Smart dog.
He’s found his spot out of the wind
where the sun can warm
his bony hide.
He’ll stay there all day
if he has to.
I hunker down
next to him,
give him a pat,
scratch his belly
and light a cigarette.
The wind whips
up the dust, whirls
it across the road
and into the pasture.
A cow
shakes its head.
I lean against the wall
doing nothing,
singing, “I’ll be your baby, tonight.”
I scratch the dog
behind his ears.
He yawns,
stretches.
Smart dog.
He knows
how to keep warm
and wait
for the wind to lift.

Wade H. Fox is a writer, editor and teacher. He lives with his wife and son in Lakewood, Colorado. A former editor for Ten Speed Press and Lonely Planet Publications, he currently teaches writing at Red Rocks and Arapahoe Community Colleges, outside Denver.