my dog is fat,
and doesn't understand what i'm saying
about eating right or living healthy or dieting;
and i don't understand what he's doing half the time,
like eating feces from other animals
or barking at his own reflection,
which seems odd since i too will sometimes
stare at myself for hours at a time
wondering if i'm good or bad,
contemplating whether i need a suit, or should i shave,
while my dog goes around in circles,
pacing, as he is thinking very intensely and can't make up his mind
on where to go, before suddenly squating and oozing
out what appears to be a some sort of gelatin coming from his backside,
which is then proceeded by my dog flapping his ears,
wagging his tail,
all in the hope that i will reward him with a treat
for his transgression,
and though i've tried to cut back on how many treats i feed my dog
because he's so damn fat,
i still can't help but stare into those deep amber orbs
attached to those chubby cheeks
in which a hurried pant and pink tongue hang from his slack jaw,
and it is in those moments that i no longer
care about those admonishing stares from neighbors that mean mug
me and my dog as we walk down the street,
judging us for our weird body shapes, respectively,
so i feed my fat dog another treat that he doesn't need
because i don't care if we're a blight on society's perception
of what a dog and a dog owner should look like,
and while this might not
be how i thought my life would be like,
i go to the pantry and grab a oreo treat for myself,
while thinking, i hope my dog doesn't have diabetes
Fred Aiken Writing 