Breakfast with the King

No one believes that my dog can be vicious
Since none of them are charged with his care in the early morning
when he is at his most demanding, obnoxious, and even violent
stomping around my bed and torso like a littler Napoleon
stepping on the very roots of my hair to pull them from my skull
which produces my shriek of course, but also a sound like Velcro
and then raises a paw to tip over my opened water bottle on the bedside table
looking me dead in the eye before he does it—all of this happens in under a minute

of course, he could’ve spent the last hour and a half asking more politely
before he resorted to this. It’s entirely possible I just slept through it
but there I go again, making excuses for him

after breakfast, like a beloved cult leader, he rewards my service lavishly
when we get back into bed, he stretches his back with his paws against my chest
produces my very favorite tiny sound from the back of his throat when he yawns
a sound like “ah!” and then he nestles up into my neck and kisses my earlobe

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