Peanut

They say the peanut isn't a true nut,
Not like my first girlfriend, who rescued me
From dullness, calm days, and obscurity
By bringing me a half-Dalmatian mutt
(Part collie, part Alsatian, part pork butt)
Who, finding his own way to living free,
Slammed gracelessly into the neighbour's tree,
Which, then beyond all salvaging, was cut.

The public, shocked and ill-prepared to meet
With fate in this disguise, in canine form,
Preferred to call him names: Bull, Hardhat, Storm,
And much was said about our shady street
Becoming sunny. I admit defeat –
Young Peanut now lives where he's safe and warm.