A Dog’s Life

So here we are again,
on the grooming-table.
I can feel that sizzly old
styling-brush stretching
my ears right down to
those frilly skirts they give me.
Ouch. I think my legs are fine
as they are, but there you go.

You know what they say,
how these people come to
look like us? They’re both
primped, too, all fluffed up
for the judges. His mind’s
on the job, don’t know
what’s got into her. It must
be something in the breed.
They’re notoriously moody
and so unpredictable.

A Dog’s Life

Looks as if that’s it. Now
for the little prance round
the ring. You should see him
trot me! The high-stepping,
the lights, the applause.
Can’t say I don’t love it,
but the way Mr Pomposity
lifts up your tail and studies
your privates. I find that
very undignified.

Only a couple more years of this, and then it’s retirement
and the stud life for me: I’ll show ‘em.
Heigh ho, jump down and off we go.