Pitter Patter Feet

Little pitter patter feet
A yip, bark and bite
For every step across the room

Plop on the butt
Eyes lift upward
A whine for attention

All before a canine monkey
Swings from a sleeve
Yanking and killing the fabric

The Weekend of Meet the Breed

Winding down from
Greetings and explanations-
“Come see the AHT!”

“Oh, is this like the Xolo?”
Questions and answers
Passed back and forth.

Only a few people matter
Judges need some education
In matters concerning breed

Conformation-qualifications of
Faults versus acceptable traits.
Correct information is better than falsifications.

The weekend of breed booths
One long showcase of various dogs
Is at long last over

And finally normality
Can resume the broadcast
Of babysitting and reading.

Pies and flying balls

This is another dog poem which goes into what is, I’m sure, most dog people’s least favorite activity, poop pickup. It also talks about playing ball with a ball crazy dog who was put out with me while I was doing the dog yard. This poem is the result of those twenty or so minutes alone with the dog and the shovel. There really isn’t a whole lot for me to say here; I think you’ll get the picture when you read it, so I’ll just give you guys the poem.

Here’s Dog Pies:

Picking up dog pies surrounded by sand, patches of grass
Elongated tubes, solid in their form
Or crumbly at the slightest touch
Pungent smells fill my nose as
A body runs full on past as I bend over.

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