I’m going to have to bite you.
I hope that isn’t rude.
It’s just that I hate burglers.
Wait! Do you have food?
You broke into my house.
I hope I don’t seem coy.
So, now I have to kill you.
Wait! A squeaky toy?
The intruder has been neutralized.
She’s as dead as day-old fish.
Mom looked at me in horror.
She said, “That was your Aunt Trish.”
I don’t want to appear bitchy,
I fear I seem to be quite rude.
It’s just that I’m here starving,
And Mom won’t share her food.
Mom is a diabetic,
She’s very careful what she eats,
So, I just help her control portions,
By consuming any vegetables or meats.
She screams that she’s not sharing.
“This food is just for me!”
Hey, calm your britches, lady.
Try some vodka in your tea.
Mom gave me some dog biscuits,
It’s the only snack I’ve had.
I hate to sound ungrateful,
But I can get those things from Dad.
(Cough up the meat, lady.)
I’ll need a wee distraction,
Perhaps a knock upon the door.
Then, I slightly bump the table,
And the pepperoni’s on the floor.
I’ve never seen her face that color.
It’s not like I ate it all.
I just saved you some carbohydrates,
And the rest is down the hall.
(If you can find it.)
I finally filled my belly,
I think I’ll take a nap.
But first, I’m going outside,
So I can take a … walk.
I cannot get a snack to eat.
If I move, I’ll lose my seat.
I have a bit of deadly gloom,
Why does a dog need so much room?
What is it with this magic chair?
He knows that I always sit there.
I’m sure that dogs must mean no harm,
Perhaps they find a used seat warm.
At last, I must admit defeat.
I will never have a snack to eat.
Editor’s Note: This is from a non-scientific study, but results are interesting.
Dogs sleep 19 hours a day (or so.)
They’re really not very active at all.
They will show up for all mealtimes,
Or sometimes, just to catch a ball.
So, eighty percent per day asleep,
A vast amount of total time spent,
Yet, when I take a one-hour nap,
That hour will be in the twenty percent.
My Mommy has a house of bricks.
She also has a topiary of sticks.
I didn’t understand her twigs so grim,
Until she gave my lovely hair a trim.
I was a girl beautiful and faultless,
I’m now a guy with pattern baldness.
I have a home upon the range,
Mom made it look like I have mange.
The past few Aprils were fun for me.
When NaPoWriMo came around,
I found myself away at sea.
This year, I’m staying home.
So, I don’t see open seas.
I’m see poop wherever I roam.
I love my dogs, the entire pack.
It just takes them so little time,
To recycle any snack.
So, away at sea, one hand for you,
And another hand for the ship.
Home in the yard, one foot for grass,
And one foot for the shit.
Rocky is a klepto,
He stole a poor rat’s life.
Now we all have lepto,
Which is causing us much strife.
Dad keeps me warm.
He protects me from harm.
I will stay here forever.
Would I leave him? Never.
I feel safe and sound.
I’m always Dad’s hound.
Mom has food!
I brushed my doggie Katie.
The memory still lingers.
She is much less matted,
But I only have nine fingers.
By Katie, the PBGV Hunter
I found a squirrel,
His name was Fred.
l chewed him
On his little head.
“Drop that squirrel!”,
My Mommy cried.
It’s Squirrel Tartare.
I prefer them fried.
Mom grabbed Fred.
She threw him far.
I heard him hit
My Daddy’s car.
I will miss Fred.
He took a lickin’.
Now I know
Squirrels taste like chicken.