Piper’s Little White Dog began as a poem that Nan Magee wrote last spring.

Ode to Dogs I have Lived With

My little white dog does not

Knock over trashcans or people

(unless they are under two)

Chase squirrels or cars or postmen

Run out the door,

down the hill or

After the bicyclist

When we walk down the Avenue

My little white dog does not

grab donuts out of stranger’s hands

My little white dog

does not guard the front stoop so intently

That the mailman tosses our mail into the car

parked on the street

My little white dog does not

Chew underwear, needlepoint pillows, socks, shoes, or seatbelts

My little white dog has never eaten anything

Off the kitchen counter

My little white dog has a hairdresser

My little white dog gets fed with a spoon

My little white dog eats my dinner

If it is steak, chicken or salmon and

I haven’t made it too spicy

My little white dog

sometimes greets me at the door

sometimes snuggles with me on the couch

and often demands that I scratch his head

Always,

When the night is deep,

My little white dog is waiting at the bedroom door

Always,

I open the door, climb into my bed

He is still young enough to hop up

and then by lifting all the covers

I make a cave for him next to me

He finds his spot,

And stays there until the coffee is brewing