Hello, Pandemic Puppy!
How you love to run and jump
Let’s go on our morning jaunt
down by the old tree stump.
The frisky devil pirouettes
until he pauses with a schlump
About to do his business
my heart goes bumpety-bump.
He squats just like a catcher
awaiting a fastball’s thwump.
But this is not child’s play —
this is all about the dump.
Stringy? Runny? Perhaps discolored?
Let’s hope for brown and plump.
His state of health is at stake,
and I’m the home plate ump.
The plastic baggy scoops it up,
I inspect each and ev’ry lump,
I feel no shame, just gratitude
for all the solid clumps.
Nature calls three times a day,
so I focus on his rump
And grab the leash lickety-split
Whenever he starts to slump.
Okay, Puppy, let’s take a walk —
you can lick and sniff and hump.
We have to brave the wintry cold,
for we have no magic sump-pump.
Curious about the opposite sex,
he approaches a Doodle frump,
But she turns tail and scoots away —
she’ll abide no public strump
When he finally brings me home
and senses I’m no mugwump,
Puppy joins me in the john,
where I sit like Forrest Gump
To start the cycle all over again
With no regret and no harrumph.
We serve the finest kibble here
no guest is deemed a chump.
Tomorrow morn before the dawn
I’m bound to be a grump
But will react just like a cat
when I hear the very first flump.
I’ll walk the puppy in the dark —
I’ve learned to take my lumps
And give great thanks for any time
I’ll ne’er be thinking of Donald Trump
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One fine body…