The dog and I

are a constant clown show.

I throw one ball,

she brings me back a different one.

I throw the ball three times

and she fetches it.

I throw the ball a fourth time

and she jumps up into my lap

instead,

a non-sequitur.

She wants to play fetch

but won’t let go of the ball

and growls if I try to take it

or even just pet her head.

She tries to play tug

with a ball

instead of a toy.

When I stand up,

she steals my chair.

She barks to be fed

the second we walk in the house.

I make her pay the tax

before I feed her,

leaning down to

plant a kiss on her forehead.

She goes to her crate

after breakfast

but rushes back

into the kitchen

when she hears me

pouring cereal,

waiting patiently

for her share of Cheerios.

She dances in circles

in front of the door,

making it almost impossible

to attach the leash to her collar.

She interrupts our walk

to roll around in the grass.

She herds me where she wants me,

pushing me with her body.

We howl together

as a nightly bonding ritual.

We take mutual naps,

me nodding off in the chair,

her at my feet.

She lays on Mommy’s spot on the bed

even if it means laying on top of Mommy.

It may not be the greatest show on earth

but it’s my favorite.