White Hair

I find one, small white hair
in my winter jacket

I am reminded of the big dog,
who used to sit by the door

She was so smelly and ugly,
and very expensive

Then last year she died,
and I cried

For what reason I know not
except for her presence

Which would forever disappear
from the yard and our door

She'd sit and sit for hours just
watching nothing

Sleeping in the sun, and sometimes
it was endearing, her consistency

Her nightly summer barking,
her frozen dish in winter

Perhaps, the hair is not hers
but somehow, I wish it were.