MY NOISY DOG
Copyright 2001 by Martin Nelson Burton

When I come home, my dog will blabber
Happy sounds of jibber-jabber.
"Roo," she'll say, "Aroura rarrgle."
Kind of like a canine gargle.

My friends all say she "talks" to me —
At least, they think, it's meant to be.
But "talking" doesn't really fit.
I need a word, but that's not it.

The dogs that "talk," to name a few,
Are Droopy, Snoopy, Scooby-Do.
But making noise like sick Marines
Is not what "talking" really means.

Now, speaking in my friends' defense,
It's not like other words make sense.

She's not in pain — it's not a "howl."
And she's not mad — it's not a "growl."
It's more than "yawn" but less than "yelp" —
It's obvious I need some help!

A little dog will "yip" or "yap,"
A nasty dog will "snip" or "snap."
What my dog does is none of those,
But what to call the noise — who knows?

Of course she "barks," and "yipes," and "yowls,"
A thousand sounds pass through her jowls.
She "snorts," and "snarls," and nearly "roars,"
And in her sleep she even "snores."

She'll "lick her chops," she'll "beg" and "moan,"
She'll "gnash her teeth" and "gnaw her bone."
She'll "whine" and "whimper", "arf" and "ruff."
There're words to use for lots of stuff.

Yes, words on end and words galore —
Except the one I'm looking for.

I had no clue how hard this was
To find the word for what she does.
I fear I'll find, before I'm through
I bit off more than I could chew.

I hold out hope, though somewhat weak,
One day I'll hear her really speak.
And when she does, I have no doubt
She'll fetch that word and blurt it out!

Yes, come what may, some way, somehow,
She'll say the word that none know now.
That day will come, however shocking.
But, till then — my dog's not talking.