“my pekechi named Nick and his love of Lampchop stuffies”

Nick the Pekechi, small and spry,  
With clever spark in midnight eye,  
A plume of fur, a lion’s will—  
Yet curls up soft when nights grow still.  

Upon the rug’s expanse he roams,  
Surveyor of his bark-bright domes,  
From couch to nook, each room his stage,  
He guards his treasures, wise with age.  

But oh, no joy excites him more  
Than Lampchop stuffies, plush galore!  
A flock of sheep with stitched-on grins,  
Their floppy limbs, their velvet skins.  

He’ll nose through baskets, paw the pile  
Until, triumphant, crook a smile:  
He’s found his favorite—threadbare, worn—  
A lavender Lambchop, love outworn.  

He leaps and twirls beneath the sun,  
He brings it close when day is done,  
A gentle nibble, dream-bound sigh,  
While Lampchop’s wool-worn face lies nigh.  

Through storms or quiet afternoons,  
Through distant trains and old cartoons,  
You’ll find sweet Nick (small king at rest),  
With Lampchop gathered to his chest.  

No jewel, no treat, no bone or stick  
Could quite delight our spirited Nick  
As well as stuffies, loved and chewed—  
A bond as simple, soft, and true.

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