Hoolie Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She actually isn't mine at all.
Jack Russell Terrier called Hoolie.
Replacement for the one who did
with canine curiosity, while daring fate
attack the snake we call King Brown
here in these parts of our Down Under.
Don't get me wrong, my friends,
she is a schmaltzy, pretty, lovely girl.
A little chubby but agile enough
to clean the table just in case we have
a party where the alcohol made sure
that bits and pieces lay around in boredom.
We do have winter here, although it is a joke,
it is the tropics after all, there is no cold
or freezing weather that would keep you,
or make you sorry you set foot here after all.
But little Hoolie, as I enter home from work,
looks up with eyes that do remind me of well what?
A Chinese warrrior of Kung Fu, no not at all,
but of a grandma, though Chinese, with squinty eyes.
I rush right over to put back her gray-blue blanky
it states Lufthansa on it, oh the memories,
and in the night she snuggles next to my best pillow,
she only snores on Easter Sunday and some nights.
My wife is all entranced with both her mongrel dogs,
she thinks that feeding them and taking care is it,
but little Hoolie knows that love from this old goat
is all of what you see and do imagine, and for real.