Friday, 17 June 2016

The scabby dog with the weaponised arse.

The fleas leapt and swept and hopped through the air
Diving like monkeys from hair to hair
Laying their eggs on the dog in the chair
And feasting on blood with nary a care

Vigorously did the dog scratch at his chin
Then wander his way through to the kitchen
Where he snuffled and sniffled at the over filled bin
Licking some beans from within an old tin

The house was deserted, the door left ajar
And the gaps in the fence meant that it couldn't bar
The dog from escaping to roam near and far
'Til, just before tea time, being hit by a car

The lady that hit him, her name was Annette
Took the flea bitten mongrel to the town's local vet
Where the back right leg of the poor, forlorn pet
Was placed in a cast, once carefully set

No chip in his neck so his owners weren't found
And the poor scabby dog was sent to the pound
Until that fateful day came around
When a child arrived who'd been promised a hound

Dad tried to convince her this dog wasn't right
The mangy, old thing was a pitiful sight
Patchy fur and a huge overbite
Sitting in a kennel smelling strongly of shite

But certain she was that this sorry mutt
Was the mutt meant for her, so, though he did tut
Dad smiled, took the old dog and gently put
Him on the backseat where he emptied his guts

Mummy wasn't happy, she'd not wanted this
What was he thinking? Dad was taking the piss
But her daughter was happy and planted a kiss
Upon the dog's head as, again, it's arse hissed

"Not in your room" Mummy had said
"You'll have to make do with Big Ted instead
His tummy is bad and he's only just fed
We don't want him pooing all over your bed"

The girl was a good girl, she'd not disobeyed
So she wasn't admonished when her dad found her laid
On the floor by the blanket from which they had made
A bed for the mongrel they'd now named "Kincade"

With an arse that could easily clear a room
Fur just as rough as a street sweeper's broom
And breath smelling like the air from a tomb
He was hard to love, but loved he was soon

Not just by the girl he was always beside
The one in whose room he'd sneakily hide
But by all those around who smiled as they spied
The girl with the grin and the dog by her side

One day, when she's older, the two will part
And that parting will break that young lady's heart
She'll mourn poor Kincade, the dog with the art
Of bringing forth tears with a well timed, ripe fart

Later though, rather than sadness
Or longing to feel his weight on her mattress
The pain of the parting will burn less and less
And memories of him will bring forth happiness

The dog in the chair had had little to love
Dealt a harsh hand by a hand from above
He'd never known life not to be tough
Pardon the pun, but it'd been rather "Ruff"

A second chance had he earned, upon that day
When he'd spotted the gap and he'd run away
His back leg gave him gip, he'd certainly say
But it'd earned him a life less cold and less grey

Should you find that life be hard and living it be harsh
Find a gap in life's fence and then through it pass
Live the rest of your day's both hard and fast
Just like the scabby dog with the weaponised arse

(But do watch the traffic.)


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