Me, Poodle, likes Vegemite toast.
“I share with the master” I boast,
“Not slices left whole
Just dumped in my bowl
But served on my tongue, like the Host!”
Each morning, with mugs of hot tea
She grills sourdough loaf, slices three.
There’s none for the cat,
(I soon saw to that)
Just one each for him, her and me.
Real butter all over the bread.
The edges must also be spread.
My bits not too large,
Note, never take marg,
And none of those crusts that I dread.
I sits at the feet of my Lord,
(My Lady is also adored)
My paw on his knee
Means “don’t forget me”
(This works, I am rarely ignored.)
Thus daily, ‘tween seven and six
I thank them, with caninely licks.
As Pavlov explained
(When I went to be trained)
“You CAN teach Old Masters new tricks!”