Yet, still elated.
I've become domesticated.
Waiting on my master to come home. Rub my feet.
Give me my treat.
Tell me I'm a good boy. When she's done, she can throw me a toy.
Anything will do, from her box of delight and shame.
Call me in from the rain,
So I don't get dirty feet.
Silly boy, you should know. You can't chase the cats along the street.
With their long stockings and tiny little skirt.
Leaving no imagination to what hides beneath that low cut shirt.
But the dirty dog won't start to bark or holler,
When his master has put on his leash and collar.
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