There once was a contrary mutt
Like an ovophobe hungry for quiche
Who had a most haphazard strut
An aggressive assault on the leash
He’d bite you in moments of play
And growl if you gave him a hug
He caused every blanket to fray
By chewing (while hoping you’d tug)
His tongue was incredibly large
And covered your face in one swipe
Then right through the kitchen he’d charge
As you sought a napkin to wipe
His fuzzy black fur was a mess
Denying the groomer’s best try
But thinking of him I confess
To releasing a love-laden sigh.
Are You Reading Me?
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