Furbert uproots all my plants
While I am inside folding pants.
I make the beds and vacuum rooms
While Furbert eats my garden blooms,
And in the mud and grass he swishes
While I am washing dinner dishes.
The house is clean. The dog wants “in” —
I open door. To my chagrin,
He runs through house with paws of mud
And knocks the garbage over — thud!
I try to breathe through mounting stress
As Furbert leaves a trail of mess.
But he says, “Sorry!” with his licks
And wags and entertaining tricks.
And so I love him with his flaws
And with his maddening, muddy paws.
Now, if he’d learn to mop the floor
I’d love sweet Furbert even more!
Alicia Martwick, Portland