An ode to Milo at the Castle

So, we met Milo, 

splendid chap, pup, sort of thing, 

I wondered, would a sonnet sing, 

I am not sure you know, 

he is not a structured lad, 

certainly not bad, the apple of his Daddy’s eye, 

one foot tall, ears and all, 

French, but without the stench of je ne sais quoi, 

a superstar, a pooch, who mooches through the pub, 

given the keys to the Castle, he wanders hither and yon, 

chops or a meaty bone is what he longs for, 

he has found them before, 

quite the connoisseur, 

he struts, and strays, 

his human, just one bark away, 

we talk, as Milo goes for a walk, 

mentioning the importance to those alone, 

no solace at the end of a telephone, 

but this canine companion, 

an exquisite champion of mental health support, 

knows the value of a well-placed paw, 

that snort and snuffle to show he adores 

and I saw in the eye of this man, 

the true meaning of partners, 

when the two shared a pew, 

in this temple of social support.