The Sun shone on the Dog’s back.
Lazy bag of bones lifted his head
Looking for a shady shack,
Escape the heat and play dead.

Tempted by the recluse under the cot,
Being guarded by the Old Man with the stick,
Undecided attempt worth the risk or not,
Sweats, wags tongue and looks sick.

The Old Man woke up to the threat;
Focus shifted from the hookah to the Dog.
Tightened grip on the stick where it's sweaty wet.
Damn Monster, he sure could bite off a chunk of log.

Still shaken by year old memories
Of being chased by one of Monster’s brethren.
And near heart attack! that triggered stories
All stupid and un-funny even.

The Wrinkled forehead vs. the Wagging tongue.
Eyes become locked like two cowboys.
Rapid anxious breathing taxes the lung.
Both crack brains to foil each other’s ploys.

The Dog’s on all his four.
The stick's spontaneously off the ground.
And the noise is suddenly muted,
Crowd watches the development from all around.

If only the Dog could speak...
One timely appropriate dialogue delivery
The roaring applause from the Crowd would make both knees weak.
And... ahem... Change the end of the story.

But like the Old Man, the Dog’s dumb.
Sun hides and he’s clever.
Dog is back to dozing numb.
But sun ain’t lost behind clouds forever.

Old Man thinks he won, is calm again.
Bubbling into the hookah, pumping smoke.
Soon the jackass grin will seem lame
When Sun comes out for another stroke.

Old Man Vs. The Doggie