Three Dog Tales:
#1 Barkley’s Bowl
Barkley the Beagle, the strange mystery mutt,
Sat on his butt on the floor;
With his ears perked up, his eyes alert,
He stared at the closed pantry door.
He thought he had heard certain stirrings,
Slow small breathings and tiny feet scurrying;
Putting his nose to the closed pantry door,
He smelled a mouse plot occurring.
Barkley the Beagle, the strange mystery mutt,
Returned to his special soft chair
To consider the ramifications
Of mice invading his lair.
Vigilance, he saw, was essential
In protecting the food in his bowl;
Alas, while thinking he fell sound asleep,
Thus missing the mice pouring out from their hole.
How many mice came forth from the pantry,
Only a counter could tell;
Once they had finished the food in his bowl
Their sentry alert rang a tiny mouse bell.
The mice quickly scattered as Barkley awoke,
And found that the food in his bowl had vanished.
Barkley then barked in dismal frustration,
And thought, “My goodness, I’m famished!”
But with mice well fed and Barkley in bed
And the dawn in the east slowly breaking,
The house settled down with only the sound
That the wind in the trees was making.
#2 Crusty’s Demise
Crusty the dog, who was old as the hills,
Lived an arthritic condition;
His hair was white; it looked like the blight
That occurs without constant remission.
On Saturday past Crusty breathed his last,
Hardly a tale worth telling;
Yet Crusty was loved by the angels above
And Mary Sue Jennifer Welling.
She cried as her father buried her dog
In the backyard of their dwelling,
She cried and she prayed for Crusty’s old soul,
Did Mary Sue Jennifer Welling.
At the foot of the old backyard apple
Lies Crusty, who once bit a vet! Yet,
Life’s greatest treasure, loved beyond measure,
Was Mary Sue Jennifer Welling’s dear pet!
#3 Griswald’s Triumph
Griswald is a tough, watchful pooch
Who lives on a far distant farm
With cattle and cows, sheep and a duck,
To say nothing of chickens that frequently cluck,
Though he never does creatures much harm.
Except for that evil, foul-noisy cock,
The rooster who’s called Uncle Clive,
Who starts his vile crowing,
such discord he’s sowing,
Every morning well before five.
At that early hour this day
Uncle Clive should have stayed in his coop;
Instead he’s out strolling, strutting and preening,
Preparing himself for much boastful crowing,
Never dreaming he might disappear into soup.
For Griswald, a gentle-souled terrier,
Had heard way too much of the noise,
From Uncle Clive’s perambulations
While checking his hens’ laying stations
And crowing with pride, and some poise.
Thus Griswald now lay, trembling, in wait
For Uncle Clive’s passing his way;
And the whole farm rejoiced,
Not one eye was moist,
That Uncle Clive vanished that day.
Dog Tales
Image: not Crusty but Beatrice, my elder son and daughter-in-law’s well beloved pet who recently died of old age and dementia. Like Crusty she was loved and loving. Her loss, as well as the loss of all our beloved pets, is excruciating!
