The Watcher

Cars go by.

Snow and rain falls.

Seasons change.

But through it all, she is there. In the same spot, everyday, all day, the watcher is there.

Her sleek black hair effortlessly flowing around her gentle frame. Her steely brown eyes note every passing vehicle, every falling flake of snow. Her ears are acutely tuned to hear anything out of place. 

Her name is Daisy, and she is my dog.