TWO OF A KIND
© Keith Lethbridge
Winner, 2020 Humorous Section Silver Quill, West Australian Bush Poetry Championships, Toodyay, West Australia.
He’s just an old pot-lickin’ mongrel
With a host of unlovable ways,
Lethargic and lean, bad-tempered and mean
And he’s certainly seen better days.
He’s never been cuddly or caring,
He’s more like psychotic or strange,
And he’ll never be cute, the unsociable brute,
If he doesn’t stop scratching that mange.
I’m hanged if I know why we keep him;
He doesn’t deserve to be fed;
The neighbours agree he’s as ugly as me,
And they won’t shed a tear when he’s dead.
Last week he went “missing in action”,
Then staggered home, barely alive.
We never found out what the fight was about,
And the other dog didn’t survive.
He doesn’t respond to our whistle,
And he’ll never roll over or beg.
The Postie complained that he shoulda been chained,
When he piddled all over his leg.
Yes, he’s just an old pot-lickin’ mongrel,
And he’s neither a pet nor a guard;
We let him inside but it prickles his pride,
So he camps all alone in the yard.
Just a pot-lickin’ mongrel – Woof! Woof!
What a flea-bitten smell! – Woof! Woof!
He’s covered in scars from his battle with cars
And he’s certainly headin’ for Hell – Woof!
Just a four-legged felon – Woof! Woof!
Headin’ out on a spree – Woof! Woof!
But I really don’t mind coz we’re two of a kind,
That pot-lickin’ mongrel and me.
Now some dogs take care of their masters,
Respectful and loyal to the end,
While others prefer to be known as a cur;
They don’t want a man for a friend.
We toss him a bone every morning;
It stops him from eatin’ the chooks.
We can’t understand why he snaps at our hand,
But he doesn’t mind crawlin’ for crooks.
He won’t let us wash him or groom him;
He turns a deaf ear when we call,
And with no “beg your pardon” he digs up the garden
Without feeling guilty at all.
Yes he’s just an old pot-lickin’ mongrel,
Out howlin’ all night at the moon;
And everyone knows when he turns up his toes
It won’t be a moment too soon.
Just a pot-lickin’ mongrel – Woof! Woof!
What a flea-bitten smell! – Woof! Woof!
He’s covered in scars from his battle with cars
And he’s certainly headin’ for Hell – Woof!
Just a four-legged felon – Woof! Woof!
Headin’ out on a spree – Woof! Woof!
But I really don’t mind coz we’re two of a kind,
That pot-lickin’ mongrel and me.
He rocked up one day, uninvited;
We couldn’t help lovin’ his style;
He had no pedigree but at least he came free
So we let him hang round … for a while.
We thought: “He’ll be gone in the morning”,
But that was a decade ago,
Now year after year the old bugger’s still here …
(Don’t ask, coz I just wouldn’t know!)
He chases off cats like a demon,
And I reckon he’s tasted a few;
And as for those preachers and Sunday-School teachers,
He hates ‘em as much as we do.
Yes, he’s just an old pot-lickin’ mongrel,
And when it’s his time to move on,
We’ll say to the Vet: “Good riddance!” and yet …
Things won’t be the same … when he’s gone!
Just a pot-lickin’ mongrel – Woof! Woof!
What a flea-bitten smell! – Woof! Woof!
He’s covered in scars from his battle with cars
And he’s certainly headin’ for Hell – Woof!
Just a four-legged felon – Woof! Woof!
Headin’ out on a spree – Woof! Woof!
But I really don’t mind coz we’re two of a kind,
That pot-lickin’ mongrel and me. Grrrr! Woof! Woof! Woof!!
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