As if commanding me to touch other parts
Or to get out the comb and tidy his hair.
He lies in the sun, fluid in his movements
Lazing, owning all he sees, surveying his land
Before drowsing, absorbing heat and sleeping
He has expectations as if he is my master
This my dog, O’Driscoll, not a man or cat!
He is the most catlike dog I’ve ever met
He cleans his paws regularly and toys with his prey
O’Driscoll is far to sexy for his fur and poses
On the rocks gazing out to sea, chest out
And that, oh that really makes me laugh
Some of the time he remembers he’s a dog
And is innocently earnest in all that he does
And of course every thing is his favourite thing.
Food — his favourite, walks — his favourite
Bones — nothing better, sleep — the best!
And naturally he does them all with diligence
He can look game to play with you anytime
Look disdainful if you get cross, or crestfallen
He looks embarrassed if you catch him doing bad things
Why can’t he lie on my newly washed clothes?
Or sneak out my lingerie to his lair?
He loves his mummy and wants her clothes!
So where would we be without O’Driscoll?
He gives us much laughter and sometimes tears
And we love to do with him his favourite thing
That means every single idea he has
His devotion is unwavering, loyal always
He lies at the door when I am out, waiting
Visiting my teen daughter regularly -duty
He will not eat anything until I return
He rolls on deceased creatures of the sea
Chases birds for fun, barks at cats with hate
He runs for a ball, but runs past me to score
A try for Ireland rugby team for which he was named
Published in Contemplate
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