Who Owns Who?
In the intricate dance of companionship, Between human and canine, a bond takes shape. Who truly holds the leash, the guiding thread? Is it the master, or the devoted hound?
In days of old, a dog’s life was simple, Backyard chains and straw beds, stark and cold. The young boy knew: “I am the owner.” His loyal friend, a silent witness.
But now, oh now! The tides have turned, A Frenchie Condo, opulent and grand. Eight bedrooms, a TV, music’s sweet embrace, Heating, cooling—a canine paradise.
On walks, they lead, and we follow, Plastic bags in hand, dutifully cleaning. Home-cooked meals for them, crumbs for us, The roles reversed, a delightful twist.
So, I ask you, dear reader: Who owns whom? The answer, perhaps, Lies not in simplicity’s embrace, But in the wagging tails and soulful eyes.
For my dogs, wise in their simplicity, Declare with certainty: “We own you!” And who am I to argue?
Daniel Peacock
