If I speak in human and angelic tongues,
but forget to lower my voice,
I risk strange looks, ostracism
and legitimate sectioning by my family.

And, if I have the gift of prophecy
and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge,
if I have all faith so as to move mountains,
but do not have an A to Z,
I am just another lost motorist
on the one-way system of life.

If I give away everything I own,
and if I hand my body over
so that I may boast
but do not have a contingency plan,
I am well and truly fucked.

But enough about me.
My dog is patient, he is kind.
He is not jealous. He does not mault.
He does not bite (hard).
He is not normally rude.
He does not seek his own interests (apart from when he smells rabbit).
He is not quick-tempered, he does not brood over forgotten buried bones.
He does not rejoice over his not insignificant wrongdoings,
but merely sidesteps the issue.
He bears most things reasonably well.
He believes all things bearing the Winalot hallmark,
and one day he hopes he will catch that rabbit.

My dog frequently fails.
If there are prophecies,
they are simply a figment of his rabbit-obsessed mind;
if ordered to heel, he adopts selective hearing;
if training, it will be brought to nothing.

For he basically knows very little,
and takes for granted a hell of a lot,
and when a rabbit pops up,
frankly, what little he does know, seems to evaporate.

When he was a pup,
he whined as a pup,
thought as a pup,
reasoned as a pup.
When he became a grown up dog,
he put away his puppy things
(and I, my bucket and mop).

At present I see little hope of ever training him.
He knows this, I know this
and I really can’t see this is a situation
that will ever change.

So, cat, dog, or possibly goldfish remain the options.
Despite the above,
I have faith and hope and still believe,
that the greatest of these is dog.