Afraid your next meal may not be found?
With your tail a wagging back and forth,
Like Oliver Twist, “May I have more?”
Soulful brown eyes so sad to see,
Looking up while begging to me.
It was in the pound you were found,
And your health was most unsound.
The Vet we took you then to see,
(No dog from the pound is really for free.)
Doctored and nursed, you soon got well,
Such is the story we now can tell.
Rough life you have holding down the floor,
And chasing squirrels in the great outdoor.
Not one you’ve caught if the tale be told,
While up in the trees it is you they scold,
With your Beagle nose to the ground,
Running like a maniac all around.
A brainless Beagle you always will be.
(Any you have is in your nose you see.)
Why we got you I don’t really know,
But here you are, living in my home.
Man’s best friend you’re suppose to be,
And a friend you have become to me.
Copyright © December 2006. All rights reserved.
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