Max was half asleep on the couch,
watching a rerun of the Dick Cavett Show.
A fat Orson Wells was the guest
musing about being visited by “the black dog”
Churchill’s euphemism for depression.
“Hmpf” he snorted at the tv, “What does he know?”
Petting his little black companion,
inbred and manic.
He reached down and took the rock
that it was chewing from it’s mouth.
“Not the brightest in the litter, were you?”
The pooch licked his face
and dug his head into his armpit.