(From Fred's perspective)

Where I am found, late in the darkness,
As Dad says, not far-from-us,
Is by the bedroom door.

Us are in bed, oblivious to morning,
So I start my anguished warning,
Now that it is light out.

I rise upon the right, left haunch,
Repeated pleas I start to launch.
He stirs, he moans, then he arises.

A cacophony of howling.
A look at me, he’s scowling…
And puts his glasses on.

Then stumbles towards his toothbrush.
Spitting done, he heads, no rush,
To finish morning ablutions slowly.

Then to closet, get dressed and scorn
Walking me this winter morn,
In weather so unpleasant.

In my earlier days,
I ran away always.
Thus, I cannot be loosed unleashed.

I ran and ran when the door was open,
And the family took no hope in
My return.

So now leashed we walk together,
I seek squirrels, cats, perhaps a feather,
These are my morning joys.

Yet this morning it was raining
So our return had a special treat:
Dad toweled me down quite nicely,
An act I think is really sweet.

Then he checks my food bowl closely,
Fills my water mostly,
To the top.

Finally, goes to the couch with crunchy bites
(He thinks I think these are my rights),
Makes me stand, sit, shake.

But he is fooled,
For his companionship is my reward:
It is thoughts of this, I sleeping hoard.

Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.