Man's best friend

• Alastair Wadlow, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2006

Man’s Best Friend

My last dog died of great old age, he couldn’t live any longer.
We called the vet to put him down; we knew he wouldn’t get stronger.
We cried all day for our last dog, Todd and also did the vet.
Through all our tears, we decided that, we needed another pet.

We chose our pup – actually, he chose us, from the slobbering, balls of black fur.
We took him home and quickly found millions of fleas feeding undeterred.
His parents both were champion dogs; they’d won a zillion awards.
So pups of theirs were bound to bring a clutch of similar rewards…(so we thought).

He barked at the possums and kept us awake; he chased all the birds, and fell over the rake.
He’d lie on the floor and chew on a paw, then run head first into the big glass door.
It didn’t take long, for it was plain to see, that whilst he was cute, he was daft as could be.
Often with dogs it’s a question of breed, but with our dumb hound, it was brains he did need.

Even when snoozing his daftness prevailed, he’d sleep upside down with his nose by his tail.
Then he’d wake with a howl and leap to his feet, turn around twice and then go back to sleep!
But really we love him, although he’s quite mad, our lovely old Gyp really isn’t so bad.
They say a dog is man’s best friend, so choose your dog most wisely…or they might choose you!

By Alastair Wadlow