My charming distraction, Paris Thomas, wrote this poem yesterday at school about our rare black golden-doodle Polly, who came into our lives from Laurel Ridge Breeders in Virginia.
When I read the breeder reviews during my research the owners of the Laurel Ridge dogs wrote about how funny their dog was. I had no idea dogs could be funny, but Polly has a very hilarious sense of humor, and she is so loving, she even adopted our rescue cat Dash, who has literally been raised as, and thinks of himself, as a dog.
By Paris Thomas
Here I lie,
On my bed in the living room.
Right next to the kitchen,
My nose burns as I smell all the tasty scents.
Mom has just made chicken.
Barbeque, I think.
There is pasta,
And there is bread.
So many options!
Lucky Paris and Siena.
I can smell the cat food too,
But mom won’t let me have it because it is bad for my joints.
She locks me out while Dash and Jam eat,
Because she thinks i will eat it and I don’t know any better.
Joke is on her though, because I do know better.
When they sit down to eat the chicken, and pasta, and bread
I will get up from my comfortable plushy bed,
And beg for food.
Mom will feel bad and make my sisters share.
I will make big large puppy eyes until I have eaten more than half their dinner.
The food they feed me is mushy, gross, flavorless.
Maybe they wouldn’t make me beg so much if they knew how it tasted in my shoes.
I love to eat everything,
Except for vegetables, fruit, chocolate, and my own food.
But sometimes I am just too tired to beg and beg and beg
So I might just stay in my bed for a little longer.
Now that I am ten years old,
Seventy in dog years,
I don’t have the same energy that I did once before as a small pupper.
But I will still eat the cat food left over, and steal the food from your hand.