A Paper Dog

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