Conveying The Message

He's an incorrigible little fellow
given to canine histrionics, most
amazing of all his transformation into
an alarm clock. By some intemperate
alchemy of subconscious entitlement
he presumes to demand his imagined
privileges. And nor is he alone in
his penchant to grouse and insist
for his twin is equally culpable. They
have worked out a pantomime in
their scheming little brains to move
me from the lethargy of afternoon rest
when they are bored with their own.
He leaps from my resting side to the
kitchen to be stationed at the counter
in anticipation of my busyness there.
Repeatedly emitting sharp barks of
command while his sister undertakes
to swat the newspaper from my
dozing hands, each determined to
convey the dire urgency of providing
them with dinner to revive their
flagging energy post our long and
energetic daily woodland ramble.