Brunch with the Small Dog

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…