Our dog Bogo may be a coydog
She's a dear gentle girl
She goes off and hides, leaves us in a fog
Then wonder, there she is in a curl

On the floor beside us sometimes
Another look, she has left
Stealthy like a cat she is at times
Under a desk is she, hiding, cleft

From the people who comprise her pack
But only for a short while
As I said before, she has this knack
Of appearing without guile

Or malice, just curiosity or purpose
Does she hear the leash or can of food
Being opened? Or someone at the door
Or perhaps, a friend is needed by her brood