The dog looked up and asked the boy,
“Why do you keep throwing the ball?”
It turned away, sniffed a little,
“I mean, what’s the purpose at all?”
The boy, in his shock, dropped some treats,
A bag full of poo, and the lead,
“How… how… why do you talk to me?”
This would be a strange day indeed.
“Yes. Why is the question I asked,
You must pay closer attention.
Listen, I’ll cut to the chase now,
Or we’ll get too cold to mention.”
“The earth is full of things to chase,
Balls, frisbees, squirrels, and their kind,
But why do I chase them? What for?
Is it simply to please my mind?”
The poor boy’s mouth hung limply down,
Loosened by the dog’s wagging tongue,
And so he could give no answer,
Though none are sure if he had one.