Dad has a pup curled up still
in the corner
with a belly full of batteries.
He quivers no cow herding dreams
and only breathes when you turn him on.
When the milk barn telephone went off
he would never torment that cow
by swinging madly on her tail.
He doesn't smile for cookies, shed,
or make a mess.
This pup's has no ears to anticipate
the whistle coming from his master,
no eyes to watch intently
for the beloved hand
sweeping towards the calf
needing separated from the herd.
Never will he run flat out, belly
to the ground, tongue dripping joy.
He won't ever beg for food,
or beg for more of the work
he was born and bred for.
This pup won't die with
trying to please his master
whose hand he can't lick.