If I had a choice, cat or dog? The answer would be Neither.! I don’t condemn anyone for having a pet, but it’s just not for me.
I do have an imaginary dog, a black one, just like the one Winston Churchill had, he’s never far away from me, indeed today he’s particularly close. He’s been keeping his distance, the fence my burn injuries erected have been too high for him to climb over, but he’s getting closer. That’s why I can’t find any humour today. So I’m repeating a previous post, about our son’s dog.
As compensation for the repeat, and because in the image at the end Logan the dog has got a burger, a little something extra.

The Burger.

Are the burgers with brioche, or bread of the proper kind?

The waiter looked at me as if I was out my mind. 

His answer, the wrong, one,

I told him I’d be gone,

They taste like plastic I find.

The Grand Dog.

Most people have grand kids, those bundles of joy, but we don’t want one a girl or a boy!

We had our two boys, and that was enough, so what do we get now? A big ball of fluff!

He comes to our house this hairy tornado with attitude, we try and hide everything, that could ever possibly be chewed.

Tigger has nothing on this monstrous being, we put down a mat, but on the floor he likes peeing.

If I was Stretch Armstrong, it wouldn’t be bad, but I can only dream now of the arms I once had.

He pulls and he pulls and never gets tired, I think maybe from a mule he was sired.

“He looks just like Boris” as he sat on the mat, but looks can be deceptive, he’s much cleverer than that,

He knows how to wrap us around his little claw, he makes our hearts sing with a lift  of his paw.

So here we have him Logan the dog, chaser of ball, not yet bringer of log.

He’s part of our life now, and that way can stay, we wouldn’t now have it any other way.

All words by Meadowhwead Bard.