LOVE STINKS
NOTE: Margie is a dog.
LOVE STINKS
As I scrubbed poop out of the fibers,
Of Katie’s favorite rug,
An interesting thought,
Drifted through my mug.
Did Margie lie her turds here,
In a spiteful, loaded way?
Or did they escape her in a panic,
No matter how hard she prayed?
Nobody poops on the floor.
Not papa, not mama, not a soul.
So for Margie to have done just that,
Was mentally taking a toll.
Scenario 1:
Her tummy starts to rumble and she slowly starts to pace,
“Where’s a good spot? I’ve got such a large space.
How about the floor? It’s wooden and real creaky.
That would be too easy to clean, I need someplace less squeaky.
I know just the spot, it’s where momma and I like to cuddle,
Where papa and I will wrestle when I’m not acting very subtle.
They’ll have to spray then scrub, and then spray some more,
And I’ll watch perched from the coach as papa’s knees start to sore.
This is what they get, for keeping me at home all day,
I can watch no more Home Improvement, that has to go away.
I’m stuck inside while the squirrels stare at me, all mighty and smug,
And for that I will punish them. I will start right here with this rug.”
Scenario 2:
“Oh no, oh no, oh no, I should’ve gone this morning,
Is that why papa took me out? Should that have been my warning?
When I’m just staring at the birds and he repeats, ‘Let’s go potty’,
Responding back with a look of confusion, is that actually being naughty?
Sometimes I just like to gaze, and pretend not to hear him speak,
I saw him do it to mama one time, and it worked for about a week.
Usually I just hold it, until it’s the middle of the night,
I don’t know why papa minds so much, it’s not like he’s sleeping tight. (he is)
I have nobody to wine to now, nobody to make feel bad,
But I really, really gotta poop, and it’s not just a tad.
This rug is soft and comfy, and feel nice against my toes,
Maybe I can distract myself--- Oh shit, there it goes!