Me and the dog had a sandwich for brunch
(Well, for me it was breakfast, for her it was lunch.)
She follows me into the kitchen like glue
Just in case I might rustle up something to chew.
You don’t eat alone with a small dog in tow
And if you forget she will whine so you know
That she’s starving to death, hasn’t eaten in weeks…
Just so you’ll believe her she’ll suck in her cheeks
And manages somehow to look so pathetic,
With puppy-dog eyes that are purely cosmetic,
That there’s no way you’re eating that sandwich alone
Not unless in your breast beats a heart made of stone.
Now that’s bad enough but there’s worse on the menu
The kitchen, of course, is a wonderful venue
For practising how to look thin and appealing
While keeping an eye out for something worth stealing.
She sits there observing me, testing my mettle
And licking her lips as I’m boiling the kettle
In dutiful mode I obey and I pour,
Put the small bowl of milk on her mat by the door,
She yawns and walks over and takes up position
And just to be cheeky looks up for permission
While keeping an eye out for possible plunder.
Just who is in charge here? I know you must wonder.
The answer is easy, when life seems a muddle
She’s there with her head on your knee for a cuddle
And giving her love as the heart’s true physician
While serving as some kind of weird dietician,
For when chips are down and you’re feeling quite blue…
The small dog will happily eat the chips too.