I am A Monkey by Pocket Dog

I don’t know how or when it happened but apparently I am a monkey.  

It’s not that I act, or look, like a monkey:  I don’t throw my feces; I don’t swing on trees; I don’t walk on two legs but I am a monkey.

I don’t know why River isn’t the monkey.  She kind of looks like one.  She dances around on two feet when she is excited or wants food.  She runs when Mommy offers bananas.  I usually  turn them down when offered.  If they are on my dinner plate I will eat them but that is just to be polite.

But one day, out of the blue, Mommy looked at me and said “How are you today monkey?”

I’m a dog.  No matter what my Mommy says I am going to wag my tail.  Well there was something about the way my tail wagged, and my smile, that made Mommy say “You like the name monkey?  Are you a monkey?” and again, simply because of the voice, I got on my back legs and put my paws on her legs.  “You are my little monkey!” Mommy said.

I knew right then I had to put a stop to this.  I did not want to be a monkey.  I was determined if Mommy called the name Monkey I would not run.  I was lying on the couch, nice and snuggled up, when I heard Mommy say “Where’s my little monkey?” and while my brain said stay my legs betrayed me, carrying me into the kitchen, and my eyes said “Your little monkey is right here!”

And now I am a monkey.  Mommy looks down and says “How are you monkey” and my darn tails starts wagging and my eyes light up.

It was hopeless from the start.  If your Mommy calls you lampshade and she does it in a sweet voice you’re a lampshade.  So I guess Monkey isn’t too bad.

At least I’m not a River.  

.