He knows his harness.
It means walk.
He loves out
Puddles to get yanked from
Trash to hunt and devour
Til it gets ripped away
Mid chomp
Not fair.

The breeze fluffs some fluff.
A roll in the grass
Embeds dirt deep down
To deep for the comb

He pulls at that leash so hard
He is like a sled dog trying to win the Iditarod.

Indeed.

But seeing that harness he flies past
Her fingertips barely grazing
Course hairs
And a nub
If she turns to corner him
He sits on edge
Waiting to bolt like a cornered mouse
About to be the cat’s lunch

If she ignores him he comes
Nips the back of an arm
Runs off.

What is wrong with this dog?

As a walk wears on he lags
His rocket boosters puttering.
Now he’s just laying there
Won’t budge.
From Usian Bolt to a lump.

She gives him a look.
That corgi has better get his waddle on.
She already chased him round
And got drug like trash hanging off the truck
She isn’t carrying his Majesty too.

His royal corginess catches the breeze
Her sighs are blowing

Waddle
Waddle
Slower and slower
Waddle
Waddle
All the way home.