Our Woodland Traipses

A fussy little quadruped
he is, vexingly irritating
with his dainty, plodding gait,
resembling at times the
progress gained by a
woolly-bear caterpillar,
quietly grumbling at the
prospect of yet another
quotidian ramble in the
woods, so unfairly imposed.

He would simply so much
rather remain in indolent
comfort behind, engaged in the
delightful device of splaying
satisfactorily still in the
living heat of the sun's
probing rays. You feel like
a woodland walk, his brown
eyes tell us, depart: hail and
farewell. We shall be happily
re-united upon your return.