The Restless Doghouse

I have a wicked side.
It sleeps in the doghouse.
It pants a lot.
It mutters things under its breath.
It ingratiates itself.
It reminds you of a human infant.
It growls at passing neighbours.
It is incapable of looking up.
It is grateful for the leftovers.
It naps a lot.
It has shameful dreams
about running, and pouncing,
and shaking.
It grows restless in the doghouse.
It growls at passing fancies.
It ages seven years
for every
one human year.
Scientists don’t know why.