I Chew on My Dog Driver

Stop wagging your tail. This is serious.
What were you thinking?
I don’t believe the burble of the creek
was loud enough to drown my voice.
You had to have heard me call.
And if you had come at a run,
I might have seen where you were.
It doesn’t matter I wasn’t calling you,
as I tore about our acreage.
You are supposed to protect.
She is just a child. Only 2.
And she does not age in dog years.
When I found you, you had your
back turned — digging!
And she had her toes in the creek.
I see my tears made little impression
on either of you explorers.
She has had her lecture:
You may not go out without an adult.
Driver is not an adult.
This, my dear canine friend,
is your lecture — seething and full
of misplaced blame.