by H. Margaret Slye

In the city in a house with a fireplaced den,

There lived quite the distinguished gentleman. 

He awoke every morning at eight on the dot, 

Browsed the paper, took his coffee, 

With cinnamon—Just a spot.

He was well versed in botany, from willow to rose, 

Wore little shoes in the garden,

To keep the dirt from his toes.

With presidents, princesses, and poets he dined, 

Polished forks placed properly,

But his wit was what shined.

One Sunday in the park, when the day seemed above botch,

He looked down at his arm, 

He had misplaced his watch!

“Excuse me, kind sir”, to a passerby he said, 

“But do you have the time?, 

I’ve quite lost my head”. 

The passerby tipped his hat, gave the hour and a smile, 

But came to his senses, 

After walking a while:

“Am I mad?  Am I dreaming? Pinch yourself, please!

What strange behavior for a canine, 

To speak with such ease!”