Don’t look at me with those big brown eyes.

You’ll get absolutely nothing,

I say as I sneak a carrot under the table.

How could I say I’d give you the world

and not give you one little carrot?

Oh you master manipulator. 

You knew the game:

You go outside, you get a treat. 

You’d scratch at the door, jump at my feet,

and throw me those big brown eyes.

A fatal blow to my resolve.

You struck me where it hurt: the heart.

How could I not grant such a simple request?

When I knew deep down

that any treat could be your last.

And so it was that Saturday morning

when every “last” came to pass

and I just hope for nothing more

than that your tail was wagging

as you pawed at heaven’s door.