Sammy

I have a friend,

he's little,

he sits in my lap.

English is not his first language

Sometimes he understands me

At times I understand him

We are learning

He doesn't smoke or cuss, but

barks, it's worse than his bite.

He kindly lets me pass first,

and prefers to walk behind me.

I seem to always forget his custom,

at the door, we politely do a dance.

In his culture he doesn't really hug,

shake hands or kiss,

he licks

many, many times.

He would play all day

if I let him.

I would tell stories endlessly

if he listened.

Eventually one of us walks away,

except in a game of stare-me-down.

Sometimes he blinks first,

other times I lose.

He's fierce.

I call him Sammy

I don't know if

he had another name

before I knew him.

He was growing already

when we met.

I think he's starting to like this one

I love how his ears

flap back

when he runs to me.

I call him again to see,

Sammy.

He's eight weeks old,

wiser than his tender puppy age.

He refuses to let me train him

without teaching me as well.

He proudly sticks out

his little boy chest,

and prances.

He obeys

but knows he doesn't

always have to.

Mister Smelly Belly

Prince of Pee and Poo

Stinker

Little Rascal

Big Boy Cuddles Wants to Play All Day

Leave My Shoe, Leave My Shoe

He auditions for a nickname.

But Sammy will do

just fine.

I hope he's my friend

for a long time.