November 25th, 2019

A warning, child, from me to you
That if as a career you choose to pursue,
The breeding of dogs (or cats or such)
I hope you do not value too much
Your goods, your freedom or your time.
So I in these few lines in rhyme
Will try to deliver a cautionary tale
Of a social worker and teacher, one female, one male
Who thought there might be a better way
To enjoy a life whilst earning pay
Starting with pets they already had
To which they would gradually start to add,
And by a process as old as sin
Produce some more, again and again
To sell to people throughout the land
(Though only the nice ones, you understand)
But what are pleasant in ones or twos
En masse may start to give you the blues......


DOGS!
They slept on the sofas and sat on the chairs
Deposited copious amounts of hairs
Chased and caught rabbits and rats,
The occasional bird, but never the bats
And dropped them half eaten on the kitchen floor
They chewed the furniture and the old backdoor,
And dug up the flower beds and the lawn
Left the curtains tattered and torn
And barked and barked both night and day
Without a thought of what the neighbours would say,
Or the people in church when they howled at the bells
Infused the house with their doggy smells
Overpowering air fresheners and scented candles
Ate several pairs of shoes and sandals
But always begged for food at the table
And drank the soup from the cook's own ladle
And then carried the ladle out to the garden
It's enough to make your arteries harden!
So “Out damn Spots”, why don't we cry?
You can probably guess the reason why,
In spite of all the mess and their flaws
We love them to the end of their fluffy paws