The Eyes of a Starving Mongrel

Feed me, they say, I’ve never been fed.

She’s sitting with her head on my lap now,
Drool threatening to leave slimy trails on my bare leg
I look at her, daring her to do just that

Her response is to lift her head and look back at me
Ears perked, brown eyes bright
Is it for me? They say
When I have a bread crust half raised to my mouth

“No it’s bally well not!” I tell her, “You’ve just had your dinner,
Now scram!”

I love her really, as her head sinks back down
Damp jowls on my knee, leaving wet smears
Another crust lifted, and her head bounces up
As if it were on a string

She burps too, and when I give her another look,
Her round eyes are not saying, pardon or sorry

Oh no,
Instead they’re staying
Give me that crust in your hand, you know you want to
And all the while those chocolate discs look at me,
Look at the bread, waggle the eye-hairs, and back to the bread

She huffs when I just hold the crust in my hand,
There is a bit of butter still on it,
Stare and stare, and drool when nothing happens

I look at her, and Bex looks at me
Finally, in the end, I toss the crust up high
Ears go flying, her thick body twists to catch it
But inevitably it lands on the carpet

She will lie down when the waiting gets too much
This is when I peer down, mouth stuffed with sandwich
And she looks up, with those big, dark eyes, saying
Give it to me!

Bex is a silly old thing, really
Yet clever enough to know that
A careful balance of gross-out drooling
And the eyes of a starving mongrel
Will always win and do the trick