Freestyle poetry at it's worst.
Big, Stinky, Black
(The rest won't rhyme so drop the cadence that just popped into your head.)
They wait for people.
They sleep for hours.
They bark like Cujo at any harmless deliverer.
But sometimes they get bored.
And the recyclables that we hoard..., as we gather enough for the trip to the bin to be worth the trouble,
Become too much to resist.
And when we come through the door.
We are greeted with leaping, whining, dancing
and dog hi-jinx.
And with home-chewed post-consumer confetti.