With the wind chill factor,
the temperature is thirteen;
I was out for twenty minutes,
it felt angry, bitter, mean.
I had to walk the dog,
he don't stay still for long;
he stares at me and waits,
like he's right and I am wrong.
I cave in to his wishes,
and don my winter gear;
a slave to canine wants,
and the cold air that I fear.
At first it's not so bad,
but then the wind starts up;
and I resent his pit stops,
I'm freezing; he interrupts.
It's testing my impatience,
I tug his leash,  to say,
Please hurry up and finish,
we haven't got all day.
To be ruled by one's own pet,
can be viewed as giving in;
but he makes it all worthwhile,
with his goofy, silly, grin.