“What kind of dog is that—the little one?”
Folks ask me as I walk with Gyp and Tig—
A prompt for me to have a bit of fun—
They mean our Tegan, who’s just six pounds big.
“It’s only on the outside that she’s small,”
I say. “Inside, her ego is immense.
What kind of dog? One who’s ten inches tall,
Who’s lovingly laid back, but then intense.
“Her breed’s a Mi-Ki, which must be a mix.
What dogs,” I ask, “do you think she looks like?”
“A Yorkie? Papillon?—those ears transfix!
A Pomeranian? She’s such a tyke.”
“Those are good guesses, but as for myself
I think, besides the others, she’s part elf.”