When, exiled for my wholly normal acts,
I all alone injustice ponder long,
And howl and chew my master’s artifacts,
And look quite guilty though I’ve done no wrong,
Wishing I might like Lassie be admired,
Long-legged like him, like him with flowing coat,
Desiring this dog’s tags, all unexpired,
Repelled by all on which I used to dote;
I nearly find my very scent revolting –
Until I think of you, beloved master,
And find I’m to the front door bolting,
Habitual happiness grown even vaster –
For thy return my foolish memory jogs
And I recall that I’m the luckiest of dogs.
Sonnet 29: Zigmund Shakespeare
