Simply Irresistible! I heard that song the other day for the first time. James said it was an old song from the last century. Wow! Now that’s old. Okay, so age has nothing to do with the topic at hand, but the song did remind me of the topic for this post.
For some unknown reason I can’t possibly explain, shoes are seductive to me. James thinks it’s because of their odor. I do know that when I was a puppy, before my adult teeth had arrived, I loved to chew on shoe leather and rubber. (Yes, there were other things I liked to chew, but shoes were mouthwatering.)
James and Ron took to putting their footwear on high surfaces to keep them away from me. However, at the first sign of either of them having forgotten, my mouth became a magnet. Before anyone knew it, one of the shoes was being ground by my sharp, baby teeth. They both still have multiple pairs with signs of my calling card: bite marks and tears.
Then again, even when James was wearing his shoes, if they had laces, BANG! Those stringy, flopping things always had my attention. I especially liked the tennis-shoe laces that had a hard, plastic tip. I could snap those off with one quick crunch. This same action would unravel the lace, leaving it to drag behind and in the dirt, making it all the tastier. Yummmmm!
Sometimes, while James was watching me (You remember. He stayed with me so I wouldn’t do my business inside.), he’d start to read a book or play with his cell phone. I’d saunter over and gently begin chewing on his laces. It felt so good when my pointy teeth would snare on one of the bows or my aching gums where a new tooth was trying to come through would chomp on the fabric. I can’t explain it. I was in ecstasy.
I’ve heard James say, “Life is not a dress rehearsal,” at least a hundred times. (Okay, I exaggerate, but only a little.) Well, I’ve taken him at his word. Even at eighteen weeks, I knew to live life to the fullest. If it means being chastised for chewing footgear, then so be it. (Yeah, I still chew shoes to this day – I simply can’t help myself.)
Anyway, James wrote a poem about my chewing on his shoelaces and his attempts to prevent me. Little did he know that giving me a treat when I stopped only served to reward my having been chewing. (Oh, he asked me why I didn’t let him know back then. It was because we couldn’t communicate like we do today.)
Regardless, here’s that poem for your reading pleasure:
your eighteen-week-old puppy mouth
is repeatedly attracted
to chewing on my tennis-shoe laces
for some mysterious motive
perhaps from their many years
of use and abuse
there is a steaming stench
of a puppy magnet
substitutions are placed
directly in front of your mouth
on which it would be okay to chew
but to you
nothing tastes as tangy
as my ripened ties
these are no ordinary footwear
on which the laces reside
to Southeast Asia and Europe
they have traveled wide
perhaps something loiters
from those locales
a splash of spilt fish sauce
or splattered boeuf bourguignon
whatever it is
I wish you’d stop
making them a priority
whilst you linger at my feet
although I’d gladly give them to you
had I another pair
rethinking that proposition
it isn’t such a grand idea
as then shoes
a permanent object
of your desire
no – leave well enough alone
replace the laces with chew toys
as in time they will be exchanged
with other ties that bind
Shoelaces don’t hold the same allure today, but I couldn’t get enough of them when I was eighteen weeks old. Shoes on the other hand, well, they are an all-together different matter. Still, James and Ron have figured out a way to stop me from chewing them. I’ll fill you in on that secret later.
If you stay tuned, in two weeks I’ll share with you the poem on butterflies James wrote, and my attraction to them. Well, maybe it was more of an interest than an attraction. They are beautiful to behold.
We hope you’re enjoying reading all the different poems James wrote during my first year. Let us know your opinion in the comment section below. I always like to hear from you, so please feel free to leave me a note about this or anything else that’s on your mind.
Until next time,
Sir Oliver of Skygate Farm (you can call me Ollie)