Barkin!

I 'ate this.
The standing around,
The non-stop preening.
My teeth checked,
Breath smelled.
My paws checked,
Even my arse checked.
Check check check.
Yes go ahead and check your bleedin' boxes.
Don't matter anyway - Milton's goin' to win the show.
Great Dane that he is.
Then there's Trixy Wixy Woo or Shoo or whatever her name is,
Her name's on everyone's lips - "Have you seen the miniature schnauzer crossed with a spaniel?
Astounding!"
First of her kind, or so I 'eard.
Course the attention's gone to her 'ead:
Loves herself she does, struttin' around like the Queen of Sheba,
That bleeding fuschia bow in her hair.
Matching the ribbon in her owner's hair.
All very matchy matchy.
And as for Mr. and Mrs. Miserable here: they've got everything ridin'on me winnin'.
I 'eard 'em talkin' in the kitchen back in December, bleedin' strategising,
Mortgaging the 'ouse,
Creatin' a rumour,
Gettin' the bookies all excited but not too excited, nudge, nudge, wink wink.

Barkin!

Borrowed more from the twins. (They're bad news I'm tellin' you)
In the end they put two hundred grand on me winnin'
Two hundred grand?
Barkin' I tell you!
I tried to tell 'em.
In the end I sent 'em up the bleedin' wall.
They were so busy arguin', at each other like 'ammer an' tongs, who was goin' to get what when they won
(They?)
That they missed the infection in my claw
Until now when Miss Uppity exclaimed "What's this?" as she held my paw far away from her 'oity toity nose.
And they were all huffin' and puffin' and posturin' that she was mistaken.
Well she wasn't bleedin' mistaken and no one gives a monkeys about the pain I'm in.
The vet said there's no hope.
Don't matter anyway. It's all over now.
We'll go back 'ome and then God knows.
The bank, the brothers'll come knockin' at the door,
And I'm tellin' you now: as soon as there's a rat-a-tat-tat I'm gone.