Encore No More
by Gideon Burton
at the passing of the family dog
Sometimes you lay paws forward, like a sphinx,
the living room your Egypt to command.
The other dog would wait for second drinks;
you were the alpha canine, small, yet grand.
With springing leaps you stripped the trees of birds,
whose siblings chirped in anger at the kill.
Your midnight barking prompted naughty words;
your shedding made our vacuuming a thrill.
You were a runner, worming under fences,
who cost us money at the city pound;
a fugitive who loved repeat offences --
that is, until that auto mowed you down.
Despite the bites, the barking, and the mess.
Your liveliness we'll miss, I do confess.