A jaunty little bustle-butt is Tig,
who skips and skibbles as she zigs along
until she hops a curb and starts to dig
ferociously (a veritable King-Kong)
to excavate a gopher-tortoise hole,
or chase a squirrel up a laurel oak
now skittering at her from its lofty bole—
no way to quell, but all the more provoke.
But then at home, she’s quite the cuddlekins,
a lapdog you could pet and preen all day
until once more the urge to roam begins,
then she and Gyp go out again to play.
Each on her leash, they lead me down the street
eager to find some neighbor dogs to greet.