Coal black eyes burrow my depths…
you possess talent for comforting
or receding.

Yet you have your swagger-
annoyed to be brushed
pout when scolded
demand structure for
mealtime and walks.

Allow young paws to caress you
but dodge open hands
atop your head.

Sense human angst and fear
snuggling by their side
just as you sidle up for
yours during a storm.

We live in harmony
as long as I obey
Sir Clancy’s rules.
Happy Birthday Little Man!