Four Ways a Dog Looks at Life



I'm too outspoken
so must wear a special collar
during the day while no one's home.
When I alert the empty house,
it vibrates against my throat,
feels weird, sometimes uncomfortable.
causing me to whine
when I speak my mind.
Life is “ruff.”


"Turkey muffin, turkey muffin,"
you squeak, as my leash clicks into place.
What’s a turkey muffin, anyway?
It doesn't sound nearly as appealing
as that rotten fish head in the alley.
Now that's what I want.


Oh, you're hungry?
You don’t live here,
so you don’t know where anything is.
You don’t see very well, huh?
Well, how about some potato chips?
I know where they are,
in the pantry. Open this door.
They're right here on the floor.
Now, here's one for you, five for me,
one for you, ten for me,
one for you, twenty for me,
one for you, forty for me.
Oh, the bag's empty.
Just throw it away.
They'll think you ate all the chips. Ha ha.


What's that on the other side of the fence?
A white stick it is,
rolling along the pavement.
A human pushes it.
I want to chase it.
I bark and bark and bark,
leap in the air many times,
try to fly over the fence.
I'm ignored.
Human and stick walk and roll away.


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