My dog has no idea what I mean.
I think he’d do it, if he had a clue.
But as we stroll through this Seattle scene,
he’ll glance at me with puzzlement and rue.
“Slow down!” I say, and give the leash a tug.
He tugs right back, delighted to chime in.
I ask him not to pull, the weary thug,
but all he does is grin his doggie grin
And dance along, the leash forever taut.
I’d like to give him treats for ‘havior good
but he will never demonstrate the trot
that all good doggies aft their master should
display. And so I can’t reward for such.
If he were my car, I’d have to ride the clutch.
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