Dream of the German Shepherd #9

The house was down a hill by the water;
so many bricks to get deep into the space
we lived in. You were cooking something,
unloading groceries and the dogs were so 
hungry. With horror, I realized I had left
the german shepherd muzzled for days--
she was dying, starving. I pet her head,
her deep neck fur thick and warm 
like a bear's. I removed the muzzle 
and massaged the greasy tamped down 
places it had cinched her mouth closed. 
As I rubbed her and rubbed and apologized, 
instead of biting, or eating, or running--
she began, with a low growl, to speak.