When cookies burned, you were the first to note the oozle and, so, warned us with a yip.

As second batch cooled, sad eyes asked to share while untrimmed paw-claws dug into the hip.

Sometimes, life seems eristic and loud, leaving both the head and heart twisted and stressed.

But, licks of face and fingers by smelly tongue finds any joy that had been repressed.

Trips to park where friends do bark leads to play and catch and run, my blue-shirted doxie.

Home is no caravansary–they can’t come over–regardless of your moxie.

Radio sounds that it is time to rise and pour kibble into your empty dish.

With your whines, music is tutti, and a better start to the day I could not wish. ; )