Calling in the Dogs

I open the door and whistle

And the little one looks at me but doesn't come

She crouches down, tail wagging

And stares with intent at the corner around which she knows the big one must appear

When he does---with his great galumphing stride and flapping ears---she flies to intercept

On a carefully determined trajectory

Plotted to catch him at THE exact spot

After their brief skirmish (dare I call it a dog fight?)

They come through the door

Always him then her

Well satisfied with their work