Assumptions about Bear-Dog

Bear-Dog sits there, taller than a table,

while his Masters subtly preen themselves.

He's unaware of his size or strength,

but he's definitely a he: this fact is big, furry and wobbling.

His trough of water waits half-drunk in his shadow.

Although he is innocent, I wonder, is Bear-Dog a living trophy?

A physical manifestation of his Masters' ego. A dancing bear-dog; poor thing. But then, Bear-Dog seems to be well-cared for, so does Bear-Dog care?

Bear-Dog's Masters rise and beam sheepishly at the rest of us, while he himself gazes into their eyes, awaiting instruction.

Soon they've all faded into the afternoon and all that's left are the empty seats, the gallons of water that Bear-Dog did not drink,

and, well, this.