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Puppies, Demolition Expert,
I’ve discovered why I love you.
You think everything is a game.
Life’s a game.
However bad I feel,
However much I scold you,
You think it’s a game.
If I dare to open my eyes,
When I wake up in the morning,
You are there, lying in wait.
And greet me with a big slobbery kiss.
How can anyone be cross with that?
Even though you shouldn’t be on the bed?
You cajole me into thinking getting up is appropriate,
That today will not be a disaster,
No matter what is scheduled.
You graduated Summa Cum Laude
With a Ph. D. in Interior Design.
You are convinced our home needs
Whatever you can’t move
You attempt to demolish or eat.
If Marmaduke is the Loser-In-Chief
Then you are the Finder-In-Chief.
Anything that disappeared eons ago
Is guaranteed to be found by you.
See, there it is.
In your bed.
Your life is spent
Figuring how to avoid the system.
I say “No.”
You say “How can I get away with it?”
I say “You can’t.”
You say “Wannna bet?”
And look at me with those big doe eyes.
When you come into the house
From the rain and the mud
You go into lap-dog mode.
Clambering all over the brocade couch
To reach me and smother me with muddy love.
Poor Nemo is your personal rag-doll.
He looks at me pathetically as if to say
“What did I do to deserve this.
Was I that bad? I’m so sorry.
She pulls my ears,
Grabs the back of my neck
Then, when I resist,
She jumps back and forward over me.”
“It’s o.k. Nemo.
She’s the same with me.
She uses me as a jumping post.
My ears are too high
So she jumps up and tries to reach them.
We have to survive her puppyhood, you and I.
It will end – I think!”
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