A paper dog popped out of my printer one day
I think it ran away from my neighbor’s computer
It looked hungry
I don’t know what a paper dog eats
But it didn’t like my eraser shavings
This was good for me
I don’t make too many eraser shavings these days
Gently, I placed it in the palm of my hand
Like a teacup
And I watched it run circles until it got tired and licked my thumb
But still
It looked hungry
And also, it said, “I am hungry”
Oh yeah, the paper dog could talk
Curiously enough, typed in its body, in jet black ink, were the words “I am hungry”
And so, that is what it said
In a cute, paper-thin voice
This was less-than-optimal
But I soon came to realize, the dog did not poop
And so, I did not have to pick up after it
This was good for me
The paper dog ran around my desk
And slept in my bed
I had to be careful, so as not to roll over and crush the little thing
But still, it whined, in that paper-thin voice
“I am hungry”
This got to be quite annoying for me
So I got an idea
From my desk, I took out a big, pink eraser
Using my thumb and index finger, I pinned down the pup
It struggled underneath me, whimpering in that paper dog sort of way
As I pressed the eraser into it
And erased the words…
“I am hungry”
And so, just like that, the paper dog did not speak
Much like a regular, flesh-and-blood dog
This was good for me
But that got me to thinking
If words could be erased, that must mean words could be written
So, from my desk, I took out a pen
My favorite pen
And on its beating-white body
I wrote the word “Penis”
I felt like a tattoo artist as I scratched ink into its fibers
Now my paper dog said the word “Penis”
This was funny to me
I laughed
“Penis” “Penis” “Penis”
I laughed and laughed
I laughed until I cried
When I looked down, my paper dog did not look so good
I had cried too much, and so my tears had turned it into a puddle of pulp and ink
What a shame
I really liked that paper dog
