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.)

J2H.