Christmas Morning – 8 am
The smells from the kitchen still make your mouth water
How much of it will become doggy fodder?
This is the question that is most on your mind
As the pack sits a strange tree for its kind.
This one is covered in sparkly shiny stuff
How it must have grown, that must have been tough.
With cinnamon rolls and hot drinks in their tummies
The children are placated with what they find yummy.
You know this must have been alpha’s plan all along.
That woman is clever, she is never wrong.
Now the pups are tamer and sit with excitement more contained
No longer dashing about with feeling unrestrained.
Now alpha sits at the tree reading out names,
“Here’s one for Papa, one for Robin, one for James.”
With great intent and full concentration
One at a time they seek penetration
Through the paper that holds what they desire.
One now in front of you, you now burn with odd fire.
Uncertain exactly what this could mean
You stretch out a paw wondering what is unseen.
What could possibly be hidden in there?
Oh how you wish you did not care!
You’ve touched it! It moved and made a strange noise.
That sounds like one of your old toys!
With great gusto you pounce on the gift
Surely you have been cautious enough, you have sniffed
And prodded the thing and it response was the best
Surely you have passed this strange sort of test.
You tear at the paper, leaving a mess all around!
It’s a new toy! You must show the pack what you’ve found!