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Dog Poems and other things

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My brother, Lance, sent me this poem on Valentine's Day, carefully handwritten on notebook paper. 
It has such sentiment in many ways that I wanted to share it.  I had to search some to find it's author, and may not have all the verses correct, but here it is - enjoy - 

Jubilate Canis
(with apologies to Christopher smart)

For I will consider my dog Poochkin
(& his long-lost brothers, Cherkarf & Dogtoyevsky)
For he is the reincarnation of a great canine poet.
For he barks in meter, & when I leave him alone
his yelps at the door are epic.
For he is white, furry, & resembles a bathmat.
For he sleeps at my feet as I write
& therefore is my greatest critic.
For he follows me into the bathroom
& faithfully pees on paper.
For he is almost housebroken.
For he eats the dogfood I give him
but he also loves Jarlsburg and Swiss cheese.
For he disdains nothing that reeks -
whether feet or roses.
for to him, all smells are created equal by God -
both turds and perfumes.
For he loves toilet bowls no less than soup bowls.
For by watching him, I have understood democracy.
For by stroking him, I have understood joy.
for he turns his belly toward God
& raises his paws & pen*s in supplication.
for he hangs his pink tongue out of his mouth
like a festival banner for God.
For though he is male, he has pink nipples on his belly
like the female.
For though he is canine, he is more humane
than most humans.
For when he dreams he mutters in his sleep
like any poet.
For when he wakes, he yawns
& stretches on hind legs to greet me.
For after he sh*ts he romps and frolics with supreme abandon.
For after he eats he is more contented than any human.
For in every room he will find the coolest corner
& having found it has the sense to stay there.
For when I show him my poems
he eats them.
For an old shoe makes him happier than a Rolls makes a Rock star.
For he has convinced me of infinite wisdom of dog conscoiusness.
For thanks to Poochkin I praise the Lord
& no longer fear death.
For when my spirit flees my body through my nostrils
may it sail into the pregnant belly
of a furry b*tch
& may I praise God always as a dog.

Erica Jong (1979)
Copyright © 1996-2009 created by Laurie K. Tollifson