The little gentleman
comes with me to wait for the bus at the stop
then gets bored and walks back home.
The youngest of our family, four years old, but smarter than all of us.
He hates bath. He loves cake.
He throws my stuffed elephant all over the place!
The chap who waits for his dinner every night. The apple of our eyes.
He runs around the house. Hates to be alone. He steals my big brother's pillow.
The white bow-tie printed by nature on his chest, on his dark coat.
His chestnut eyes staring at me, so hoping to get a treat for being cute.
The red scarf around his neck, as he trots around the neighbourhood,
the children around calling his name.
He talks to us sometimes, with words like “Augh!” or “Gaaarh!”
to convey his yearning for attention.
The one who welcomes me first home after a long day at school.
But beware, for if his ears are low, and he is too nice,
it means, he has been jumping on my bed, doing what he knows he must not do.
He gets jealous fast and jumps at any human taking mama's attention.
He believes he is the only one, like any spoilt child.
He may seem sleepy, but he is ever alert,
to hear the rustle of the bread wrapper,
succeeding the opening of the freezer-door.
He rushes down, from his comfy chair, off to the kitchen, to receive his share.
He returns, the slice of frosty bread in his mouth, tasty as it is.
But he cries.Why? Because he needs assistance to divide it into easily eatable pieces,
the slice alone is far too large, for his teeth to fragment.
He may be cute, though this is but a disguise.
He causes trouble, gnarling under my brother's pillow,
awaking my sister at 7:00 AM on a Sunday, in pursuit of a morning walk.
He hops around in the rainy season. At his arrival in the interiors,
he leaves his brown marks wherever he trots.
The Dibby, as we call him, as naughty as they come,
through the open door of the house, he runs to the other,
a way far shorter than that which goes around.
His dignity is high. As proud as he is, he will not allow distractions.
He's busy! Can't you see!? His walk is important!
Do not call him from the upper floor when he is out.
He will look at you, demanding an answer,
making you feel like a fool for having called.
He... He has 'class'.
He is Ricky.
For those who can't understand, this is the routine week of my dear Dog, Ricky. He's black/dark brown, with two small, white triangles on his chest, making him look really good when he sits down. Ricky has many nicknames like Dibby, Dibbydoo, 'Ki, Cookie, Black fellow (No offense intended), and “short, dark and handsome,” Richard the Chickenheart, Prince (my sister's usage exclusively) and so on. He's a great dog. He seems to think of himself as our master and us as his servants. So, I hope he doesn't read this when I'm not looking and rip my elephant to bits for it.
Big thanks to Mellanie ma'am for the suggestion and for inviting me to the blog. (You're doing a great job as the blog administrator. Keep up the good work!). I hope this post is satisfactory. Sorry for any spelling, grammar mistakes, or inappropriate usage of words and for the length. There's much more to mention about Ricky, but I think I've already done a bit too much.
Thank you for your time.
