a dogs life

African Dog

Born to guard, ward off thieves and strangers;

my bed is the grassy outside.

Meals consist of master’s rubbish,

occasionally spiced up with a mouse, bird, or stray chicken.

Favourite pastime is scratching fleas off my dirty ribbed coat.

Most illness I survive; what is a vet?

I live for my jaunts via the holes in the fence;

into the beyond I escape.

I chase field mice till I am content;

before retuning to my guard post.

Mine is a dog’s life.

 

English Dog

Born to befriend man, woman and child;

mine is a cushion, a pillow or my master’s bed;

from which I move reluctantly.

I eat nothing but Pedigree chum; chocolate will always do.

At least once a week my coat is washed, preened then polished.

Even the slightest malaise commands a visit to the vet.

Mostly I lounge about in the warm flat watching the box,

In front of which they sit;

waiting,

for the next time I can run in the grass.

Mine is a dog’s life.

 

©Cleopatra  Chipo Kuuya 2004

 

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