Homie asked for a poem.
And now... A Moment of Poetry. Composed spontaneously here for you, my pretty mortals.


The dog upon the coverlet
looks dead
legs limp
head lolling
eyes sealed shut
but if someone opens the front door
she will resurrect
and tumble headlong down the stairs
like a bowling ball
released from lane servitude
bouncing free
pell mell
every which way
until she comes to a sliding halt
carpet crumpled under-four-foot
nosing at the hand
of whoever just arrived
with hindquarters wagging
full speed
Dogs are curious animals
perpetually loving that you're home
always miserable when you leave
never indifferent
full tilt into extremes

I myself am a cat person
but admit to growing affection
for the attentions
of the dead-looking dog
upon the coverlet

The End