I found a dog skull in the woods It was the skull of a dog not some coyote or wolf or fox— this i’m certain of. It had man’s touch pressed into it’s shortened snout and loyalty smoothed into it’s rounder shape I wondered about the dog it was before it was just a skull in the woods before teeth marks made their jagged tattoos in the crest of eye sockets I stared at it’s moss-covered form centered in a clearing almost slightly on its side and I thanked the forest for giving it a funeral and the moss for making it feel not so alone and the pine needles for giving it a soft bed and the birds for singing to it day after day and I thanked the sun for kissing the bone for no dog dead or alive should feel cold. So I lifted him from the ground gentle and I promised the forest I’d take good care of him and I brought him home and picked the vines off and shooed the bugs away and took great care to scrub the dirt soft and slow ‘You’ve done a great job,’ I tell the vines and bugs and dirt ‘But I’ve got him now. You’ve done a great job, but it’s my turn to watch him now.’ And I promised to love him; a pinky swear to the sun a gentle kiss from the vines and bugs and dirt to continue that sacred vow to care for him sweet and soft until it’s the forest’s turn again.