I Wanted a Dog Part Two

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote. 

As laughs, I made up songs about him.

Sure they were stupid.

Sure performing them in school made me look like an ass.

But I made them up because I loved him.

And I made up the nickname “Booby Dog.”

I honestly have no idea where it came from.

I guess it was like nicknames couples make.

A sign of affection.

And I loved the booby dog.

I went through very hard times and low points.

But I knew that when I got home, he’d be there.

To hug, to kiss, to hold, to pet; he was there.

And we all need that.

A port in the storm. A rock to hold on to, as the waves came crashing.

A sign that at least someone loved me.

And the love of a dog means so much,

A love no human can match.

I’d get off that school bus and I would hear the barking.

His human was home.

No matter how bad the day, I heard those barks.

And I knew I had someone to cuddle with,

Someone to talk to, who would listen to me.

Even if it was filled with googly eyes,

A vacant expression.

But he got me in a way no one had before.

Did he understand what I was saying?

Probably not, but at least he would listen.

And isn’t what we all want anyway?

Someone to talk to, no judgement.

Because judging is something dogs don’t do.

They don’t think you’re stupid or crazy.

You treat them good they’ll treat you good in return.

Now, a bipolar guy like me needs lots of love.

And my dog was in no short supply of love.

Since the moment we met,

The “Mommy, I’ll take good care of him,”

It was true love.

And thinking back,

I didn’t pick him, he picked me.

And I lucked out to have had him.

And my dog danced.

Not just the trot-trot a dog does when their paws are up.

No, my dog did the hula.

And he danced the chicken dance.

Yes, it seems an odd image, but he did it.