Plahm takes a sharp left turn from his usual Muse-centered devotion and delivers a poem of pure, bouncing delight voiced by a puppy whose emotional range runs from ecstatic to more ecstatic. The structure mirrors a dog’s escalating excitement: each stanza opens with a different vocalization (RUFF RUFF, WOOF WOOF, BARK BARK, HOWLLLL!) that increases in intensity, matching the dares that grow progressively wilder—from “scratch me” and “hug me” to “toss me, / weightless, / as I rocket to mars / fueled on cookies / and wind in my fur.” The poem’s genius is in its commitment to the voice. Every detail rings true to dog consciousness: the irresistible patch something “took a leak” on, the ice cream that must be licked, the onomatopoeic “Wag-wag-wag, / wiggle-wiggle-wiggle, / tap-tap-tap” that captures the full-body communication system of a happy dog. The parenthetical coda—”Oh—and make sure you invite that guy Dave. / He’s got the best cookies”—breaks the fourth wall with charming self-insertion, linking the poet to the poem’s world through the most dog-appropriate credential possible: cookie possession. Beneath its lightheartedness, the poem offers a quiet philosophy: love is best expressed through presence, play, and the unguarded vulnerability of asking someone to simply come with you.

A disarming palate cleanser in the HoneyBeeBard catalog that proves Plahm’s range extends well beyond romantic devotion and metaphysical longing. The puppy voice is sustained with impressive consistency—never once does the poet break character to moralize or sentimentalize, which is the trap most “animal perspective” poems fall into. Instead, the poem trusts its speaker’s worldview completely: the puppy doesn’t need to explain why rolling in something is glorious or why cookies constitute adequate rocket fuel. The escalating vocalization structure (RUFF to WOOF to BARK to HOWL) gives the poem architectural momentum, each section building toward a higher pitch of joy. The onomatopoeia section—”Wag-wag-wag, / wiggle-wiggle-wiggle, / tap-tap-tap”—is genuinely inventive, translating physical movement into rhythmic text in a way that makes the reader feel the tail wagging. The self-referential coda about “that guy Dave” and his cookies is a warm, funny landing that connects the poem back to its creator without undermining the voice. If there’s a limitation, it’s that the poem doesn’t attempt to be more than what it is—but what it is, it does perfectly. Sometimes the most courageous thing a poet can do is write something purely joyful and trust that joy is enough. It is.