"Doggy"

She gazes up with dark brown eyes

Her face in longing plea.

A miniature whimper escapes her maw

Of hungry agony.

I'm in the safety of my room

O'er many a book I pour

When unsurprisingly she comes

A-scratching at my door.

“Away with you!” I cry in vain;

It ceases not a bit.

Why doesn’t she stop? Her deafness might

Have something to do with it.

More desperate now, she starts to whine

More vexing than before;

What have I done, Lord, to deserve

This blasted mutt's implore?

I open up, and in she darts

And stops, and sniffs, and then

She yips and yaps and rises up

On hind legs to begin
 

Her begging.  I am tired of

Her never-ending noise.

To shut her up, a well-placed chip

The wiser man employs

Outside his door.  O blissful peace!

Her begging ends at last.

I quickly eat the rest before

She ceases breaking fast.

Lo, she returns, more morsels now

She searches for to get.

Alas, the food is gone.  Sadly

All that is left is wet.

In parting a surprise she leaves,

A pile of defecation;

This is the third time just this week

Much to my irritation.

I chase her out.  Cursing I clean

The mess that she hath wrought.

A brownish stain the carpet sports,

Tribute of smelly spot.

Why won’t she die?  She’s old, you see,

Sixteen long years since birth.

Once thin and spry, now her short length

No longer beats her girth. 

Her hair, once black, has turned to gray,

Her eyes, once bright, grow dim.

Her mind is gone; she barks at ghosts,

‘specially at 2 a.m.

And yet, she’s cute, most folks agree.

To kill her would be wrong.

As long as she gets dates for me,

I’ll not stay mad for long.

An original composition by David Smith.