Show Dogs Don’t
Not in their master’s presence,
Not on their master’s rug
nor on his hearth,
not there, not anywhere
where they’d be judged
deficient, lacking the couth
required for a ribbon
and a trip in a purple van
to the nationals.
Show dogs don’t slouch.
They prance, wrist and hock
in rhythm, withers and flews
in perfect line and when not
they know it brother know
it good and plenty. The voice
of Him Who Is sometimes stops
them cold, makes them do things
they’d never do in private, they
who only meant to please.
Strange beasts, those two-foots,
still a meal’s a meal and love
an extra bone in the circles
where the show dogs run around
and around and never do
what show dogs don’t.