by Dan Campion

For we will consider our dog Magnus.
For he is the servant of We the People and duly and daily serving us.
For he pricks us to remember Greatness abounding that he alone can retrieve.
For our livelihoods are flown in gusts of wind but we hear him summon back the winds.
For our eyelids heavy with the dust of poppy obscure his Messes.
For our ears turned lead by his growls blunt the most outrageous Lies.
For he sees far for us with sober eyes and hears keenly for us with sharp gold-fringed ears.
For rival packs are wary of his cunning.
For he is less rabid than some of the others.
For he contradicts himself, very well, he contradicts himself.
For he marks his territory without shame.
For he makes shrewd compact with the Wolves to guard the Flock.
For we admire brute strength and do not apologize for that.
For he does not apologize.
For he keeps the People’s watch in the night against the Adversary and sends tweets against him.
For even when tweeting he is no canary.
For the camel cannot rival him in stamina nor the bear in tenacity.
For he bounds fetchingly with the poodles in the gated dog park.
For Jack London nor John Steinbeck nor Walt Disney could invent him.
For the jackals and weasels fear only bared fangs.
For strokes properly applied make him affectionate and genial but poorly applied raise his dander—Poor Magnus! poor Magnus! The fleas have nipped thy flanks.
For we bless the big names on Fox that Magnus feels better.
For fleas have fleas, as he knows, and marshals the tribes into circuses.
For he makes common cause with canines from the tall timber to the steppes.
For he grabs Pussy and does not blush to announce it, and if he did we would not see the blush through the bronze.
For his coat is of a coarseness and a fineness uncommon.
For he can pursue a golf ball.
For he can bite.