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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required He’s just a dog, a mongrel pup that fitted in me hand, short haired, tan and white, with needs of high demand, he’s whingy and he’s whiny, I s’pose he misses Mum, but now his Mum and Dad are what me wife and I become. And the recommending is that we must take him to the vet, to have all his virus shots with rates that put us into debt, we had to have him micro-chipped in case of getting lost, and then de-sexing and to register all added to the cost. We made a fuss of him and spoilt him rotten to the core, even after peeing on the carpet on the lounge room floor, we fed him ‘smackos’, munchies, and tins of high-class meat, and let him lick our plates for a special little treat. We knew we shouldn’t feed him sitting at the dinner table, but when those eyes stared through me, I just wasn’t able to ignore the little blighter who was pleading for a crust, and of course I’m feeling guilty, so ignoring is unjust. He mightn’t talk, but body language gets his tale across, by demanding his intentions with a bark “I am the boss!” That can mean our double bed, becomes one of his beds, it’s a God given right to scratch a pillow into shreds. He’s just a dog, but as he grew from pup to fully grown, there are more human aspects that our little dog has shown. He’s believing in his own mind, we are not his Dad and Mum, because now he is the King, and slaves we’re now become. Dogs shouldn’t have to take a bath; a chain should be denied, and a dog definitely should never have to sleep outside, to prove his point before its dawn our actions are defied, he’s barking at the back door demanding to be let inside. He’s just a dog with habits that does reimburse our training, he licks his bum and then me face, and thinks it’s entertaining, then rubs his bum along the carpet, so we have to come to terms, that we have to medicate him… ‘oh my God it’s bloody worms!’ The more we tried to train him, then the more he’s training us, for he always gets his own way when he’s kicking up a fuss, his wicker chair and blanket are for him and him alone, and every week on shopping day he gets a king size bone. And doesn’t he love visitors; it’s all ‘welcome to my joint,’ wagging tail and somersaults, but to get more to the point, if he can’t grab the sole attention when he sits up and begs, then it becomes acceptable to go humping people’s legs. It took him very little time to claim the television set, he’s the closest to the heater, and he does get quite upset if we don’t take him in the car… and now when being fed, he’s expecting us to feed him, his brekkie in our bed. The house is rearranged these days to suit his every need, each day by his insistence he is walked upon the lead, we bow to all his wishes, to his commands and dialogue, but for anyone who drops in… they only see a bloody dog.
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