Riley

With cutting edge scissors
firmly in hand and the object
of my unwilling attention
cowering submissively before me,
I begin to snip a trajectory of
recognition upon the mass of
soft apricot curls that have
succeeded in masking those
pleading eyes requesting
kindly cease and desist.

He would far prefer, thank
you very much, to sport the
undisciplined mass of hair
that transforms him into a
saucily rotund mop, while I
prefer the clipped visage of
a dog as a dog is a dog.

Away the tangle, begone the
knots. Done with the delicate
fibres of hair to which woody
detritus, withered leaves and
nasty burrs so fondly cling.
What emerges is a dour, albeit
sweet-faced, docile dawg.