I really can not say,
when I met the cur.
Set upon me suddenly,
'nd caused a awful stir.
Now when I catch his scent,
Or a glimpse of midnight fur.
I gird my self with alibis,
For the day's works to defer.

I do not know, how could I know,
what put him on my trail.
Did I stumble on his lair?
Did I free him from his jail?
Was he setting secret snares,
at the bottom of each ale?
Or has he padded 'long my tracks,
Since I was infant frail?

I cannot speak as to the -why-,
but he comes at his own behest.
Sometimes he stalks just out of sight,
Sometimes charges; beast possessed.
Other times I wake to find,
his great head, heavy on my breast.
I've pled, I've begged, I've commanded, 'MOVE!',
Ne'er once he's acquiesced.

I really can not say,
What spurred this monologue.
Hard to think of reasons,
When you're stumbling through the fog.
But I imagine I've time to think,
Many steps left in this slog.
Fore I hear the padding steps,
'nd deep pants of Black Dog.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Daedalan, in the year 1014 AF.