I graciously respond to the demeaning name, “Rover.”
I remain, statuesque, when they command, “Stay!”
I daringly flip when they say, “Roll over!”
I don’t ask for much, just a festive birthday.

They call across the yard and I’m expected to appear.
The children do less, but still Mother bakes.
Allow me one day, just once in a year
Where I get adored; where I get a cake.

Oh, it would be wonderful, fantastic and fun!
It would be bliss, joy and heaven!
Hold a second, you can’t gip me with one…
I know perfectly well I should get seven! Poem: Rover's Lament 1

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