Little Brown Crayon

He’s snortin’ like a Roomba, He’s grumblin’ down the hall, Then he drops his little backside And starts redecoratin’ all. He scooted through the living room, He scooted past the chair, He left a tiny signature Upon the carpet there. I hollered, “Boy, what’re you doin’?” He never turned around, Just wore a look of purpose As he dragged himself through town. Little brown crayon, Drawin’ on the floor, He made a curly underline From the couch toward the door. Little brown crayon, Lord, what have you done? I bought this rug on Tuesday, Now he’s signed it with his bum. He found the bathroom bathmat, He found the welcome rug, He found a clean white blanket That was folded nice and snug. He passed up every hard floor, Tile, linoleum, and stone, That dog can spot a fabric From three counties down the road. Little brown crayon, Drawin’ on the floor, He made a curly underline From the couch toward the door. Little brown crayon, Everywhere he goes, He leaves a little autograph And nobody wants those. I chased him with a wet wipe, He thought it was a game, He tucked his tail and circled back To sign his little name. The cat sat on the staircase With judgment in her eyes, While he completed one last stroke Across the laundry pile. Some dogs paint with muddy paws, Some shed upon the chair, Some bring home a dead thing And proudly leave it there. But mine prefers a softer craft, A medium all his own, He plants his cheeks upon the weave And lets his talent roam. Little brown crayon, Drawin’ on the floor, He made a curly underline From the couch toward the door. Little brown crayon, Our artist on the run, The vet can check his glands tomorrow... But tonight, hide every rug! No, sir. That is not how we color.