Saturday, December 30, 2006

#251: December 30, 2006

Beware the Wolf-Dog chained behind the shed!
He's not partial to strangers, that's a fact;
It's been a good eight hours since he was fed,
And I don't rightly know how he'd react.

He weighs about two-eighty when he's dry;
His tongue rolls out, a slippery slab of meat;
Got teeth like tent pegs, murder in his eye,
And I can't find a thing the beast won't eat.

He wasn't like this when he first showed up
On my doorstep, a starving, tragic stray;
Became a loving, playful little pup,
Though you can't see the cub in him today.

It's hard having a Wolf-Dog for a pet;
But he's mine, and he hasn't killed me yet.

1 comment:

Sonnet Boy said...

There's a house near the freeway between Little Rock and Fort Smith (I always forget exactly where until I see it) with a corrugated tin shed in the back yard, facing the interstate. Painted in huge letters on the back of the black-painted tin are the words "BEWARE - WOLF DOGS!"

That was the inspiration for this poem.