“Rita dry droll unexpected sense of humor her dog buddy gentlewoman farmer Regina Saskatoon”

Rita in Regina, with eyes sharp and sly,  
Watches dust moats in sunlight slip quietly by.  
A gentlewoman farmer—boots muddied with pride,  
She surveys the long fields where sweet Saskatoons hide.  

Her hands know the seasons, each furrow and row,  
She hums as she gardens, her pace never slow.  
But Rita, so stoic, reveals not a smirk—  
'Til Buddy, her dog, bounds and barrels at work.  

He’s a wiry old mutt with a wag in his heart,  
His tail tells the punchline before Rita can start.  
Yet folks don’t expect it, that sidewise remark—  
Dry drollery sparked while they rest from the lark.  

Someone will fret about rain or the yield—  
“It’s drier than wit in the prairies,” she’ll field.  
Or offer a treat to that four-legged friend,  
“He’ll eat it,” she grins, “if it’s halfway pretend.”  

From market in town to the night’s quiet close,  
She’ll swap clever jests as she ties up her rows.  
Spreading good humor like seeds on the breeze,  
While Buddy and Rita move lightly with ease.  

In sun-dappled silence or laughter’s warm tune,  
It’s clear who brings life to the farm’s afternoon.  
For Regina holds steady, but Rita, you see,  
Is its bright Saskatoon—rooted, witty, and free.

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