Nobody loves me,
Everybody hates me,
Guess I’ll go eat worms.
My dogs don’t love me,
Unless I’m bearing treats.
I try to hug and kiss them,
Guess I’ll admit defeats.
I let them out to play.
I feed them two squares a day.
They pee on the floor, it’s OK.
Their hair makes me sneeze more than hay.
Am I bitter?
Not even a bit.
So, they sit by Dad.
I won’t have a snit.
They really love me.
I’m sure of that.
But if I find they don’t,
I’m getting me a cat.
Mom, why are you bleeping?
Can’t you see I’m sleeping?
I don’t need to pee outdoors.
I already did, over on the floor.
Is it time for me to eat?
If not, I’m going back to my seat.
I don’t like the lady with the scoop.
She harvests all the tasty poop.
You’re putting drops in my eyes?
Where is my tasty cookie prize?
Mommy woke me from my nap.
Lordy, what a load of crap.
I was deep inside a dream,
With a bowl of squirrel ice cream.
Then, I found myself awake.
She gave my little tail a shake.
I wish I had a can of Mace,
Or the energy to chew her face.
Instead, I’ll go outside and pee.
As I think, “Oh, woe is me.”
Rocky said, “Oh, woe is I.”
He’s such an educated guy.
Now, I lay me down to sleep.
My Mommy is a little creep.
I will chase her to New Delhi,
If she blows a bubble on my belly.
I’m a Chihuahua.
Oh, woe is I.
Mom stole my chair.
Heavy sigh.
Mom will feed me
Twice a day.
It’s not enough.
I’m wasting away.
Mom will teach me
How to howl.
She says my bark
Is very foul.
I’m glad to get this
All off my chest.
I still like my Mom,
I just like Dad the best.
Editor’s Note: If you think your partner is high-maintenance, just adopt an opinionated dog. Note: all dogs are opinionated.
Daddy just scratched my chin.
This behavior is unacceptable.
He may rub me on my belly,
He may give treats but no vegetable.
Mom tried to cuddle next to me.
She needs to stay in her chair.
I don’t like being crowded.
If I need her, I’ll go over there.
What is wrong with these people?
Millions sleep with our C-PAPs,
To avoid a slow death by snore.
This is not nearly as tragic,
As fresh doggie poop on your floor.
Our families came through the Depression,
When life could seem very hard.
This is not nearly as tragic,
As a lizard coming in from the yard.
Your ancestors were at Vesuvius,
Some perished, covered in soot.
This is not nearly as tragic,
As fresh doggie pee on your foot.
Today, we had some crises.
Let’s all take a deep breath.
Pee, lizards and poop won’t kill you,
Stop crying and plotting their death.
My wife is a genius.
She adopted a dog.
(Rescue, don’t buy.)
She is a crazy dog.
Doesn’t listen.
Doesn’t behave.
So, she needs training.
Lots of it.
More than a normal dog.
Or …
(Here’s the genius part.)
You adopt an even crazier dog.
Now, the crazy dog seems almost normal.
Yay, wife!
It’s a quiet morning.
Everyone got up for a potty break.
Then, everyone went back to bed.
Everyone except me.
I can’t.
Once I’m awake, that’s it.
I stay awake.
My wife says the same thing.
I will remind her when she wakes up.
For the second or third time today.
My dogs appreciate my not going back to sleep.
Then, they can inherit my side of the bed.
Secretly, they try to wake my wife.
Half a king size bed is not enough space,
If there is a whole one available
For the price of a couple of licks and growls.
So, instead of sleep, I drink coffee
To the sound of a snoring Shih-Tzu
Who is too short to get on the bed.
She has a pillow. She’s happy.
I would like to sleep like my dogs.
Instantly. Any time. Anywhere.
Give a dog a pillow and he’s out.
Hell, give a dog a floor and he’s out.
They are storing energy for when it’s needed.
There is going to be a major crisis someday.
At least we will have stored dog energy against it.
Whatever the crisis may be.
If dogs could talk,
If you asked a question,
Any question at all,
The answer would probably be,
“Let me sleep on it.”
Woof. Woof. Woof.
Oh. God. No. It’s Monday.
Four out of five dogs are asleep.
One Shih-Tzu without a snooze button.
I did not have enough fun this weekend
To explain feeling this bad right now.
How am I hung-over without drinks?
Time to find my motivation.
A shower always helps.
Except on Mondays.
On Mondays, it just makes you damp.
Maybe I should work at home.
Let’s see. It’s ten after seven.
Meetings start at nine.
So, I’m already late for work.
I hate Dallas traffic.
I would just call in sick, but
I’m not in third grade anymore,
And Mom wouldn’t come make soup.
(She didn’t last Monday, anyway.)
Spousal Unit just reminded me
That her first appointment is at noon.
She will be back in bed before I leave.
I will poison her coffee on the way out.
It’s time to go.