The Jack Russell

He is elderly and quietly dignified,
anxiously responding to the
unrelentingly firm instructions
passed from the lips of the woman
he clearly adores. His soft brown eyes
pleading for reconsideration as though
prepared to pledge he will be on
best behaviour, though it is hard
to imagine otherwise for this eager
little fellow. As though to appeal to a
creature of a lesser order, he turns
his head to observe the shop's most
recent interlopers, small snout pink,
errant cowlicks of stray locks in a
tortoiseshell of white, beige, brown
falling across his mournful eyes 
as though to elicit kindly intervention.
He has beguiled us, and we assure the
shopkeeper his presence pleases us.
But she is adamant, firmly directing
the little fellow and his companion, a
sedate and elderly, exceedingly obedient
Basset hound, into the office from whence
their baffled eyes follow our intrusive
presence within their environs.