Life’s no beach, no bones about it;
The old bones ain’t what they used to be.
Day after day, week after week,
Forever tethered, he drags me over here.
Then just when I get settled in, he says,
“Move over, make room for one more.”
It wouldn’t be so, so terribly bad,
But I’m subjected to all that verbal abuse.
Those Grinders, a noisy, smelly bunch,
Grate my ears with their endless whining
Of prices rising high, politicos going low,
Nyah nyah nyah, which I pretend not to hear.
While I do have a lot to complain about,
It’s not as bad as the ASPCA shows on TV.
His training took me too long to trade him,
And there’s something about him that I lap up.
It’s a dog’s life, but somebody’s got to do it.
Keep those cups of Joe coming, Dave.
Thanks for your steadfast loyalty.
© 2022, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
