homework w/e 10/12 WHO, WHO, WHO, WHO LETS THE DOGS OUT?
Posted: Sun Nov 28, 2010 4:40 pm
WHO, WHO, WHO, WHO, LETS THE DOGS OUT?
All was quiet, that was strange, ‘twas not the norm that all was still
for you always heard the ruckus as you drove the driveway hill,
then you’d see five happy faces all lined up along the fence
with assorted tails all wagging. Moving fast your best defence,
to avoid the furry critters in their paroxysms of glee
but all was quiet, all was still – and it just wasn’t normally.
Looking around, at first glance everything seemed to be in its place.
Fernando grazed in the home paddock – the black ewe was in the race.
Rams were dozing ‘neath the ironbarks, the lambs were in the shade.
Chooks were scratching in the cabbage patch – the rooster in a rage
chased the new kelpie puppy who intended stealing eggs
from the nesting boxes. Lucky that the small bloke had four legs.
Hang about there was the problem. Only one dog minus four
in the house yard – not the best of plans to come home too I’m sure
Where’s Anushka and Khadizia and Samantha, Boo – Good lord
for the problem now was obvious – it really struck a chord.
I noticed the dog pen broken, the gate just lying on the ground
and I would bet my bottom dollar that darn fox has been around
taunting, tempting and annoying them – thinking ‘ they’re all locked in there’
forgetting to remember Wolfhounds have a lot of weight to bear
which if thrown against a wire mesh gate in anger and frustration
would defy the best of builders codes across this sunburnt nation;
and when backed up by a Pit Bull and a Kelpie and a Collie
well I hope the fox had Nikes on else he’d regret his folly.
He’d been to cheeky for years that one – strolling along the fence
with ears pricked and red tail bushy, seems he’d get his recompense
for his cheek and his comeuppance, though I hoped he would escape
‘cause I’d sneaking admiration for that ginger headed jape.
Oh yes I knew he was feral and the odd lamb he sometimes took
but he culled the weak and left the strong and never stole a chook.
Dusk approached and I went looking – giving whistles and a shout
best re pen them all securely, for you know who lets the dogs out.
Maureen Clifford ©.
All was quiet, that was strange, ‘twas not the norm that all was still
for you always heard the ruckus as you drove the driveway hill,
then you’d see five happy faces all lined up along the fence
with assorted tails all wagging. Moving fast your best defence,
to avoid the furry critters in their paroxysms of glee
but all was quiet, all was still – and it just wasn’t normally.
Looking around, at first glance everything seemed to be in its place.
Fernando grazed in the home paddock – the black ewe was in the race.
Rams were dozing ‘neath the ironbarks, the lambs were in the shade.
Chooks were scratching in the cabbage patch – the rooster in a rage
chased the new kelpie puppy who intended stealing eggs
from the nesting boxes. Lucky that the small bloke had four legs.
Hang about there was the problem. Only one dog minus four
in the house yard – not the best of plans to come home too I’m sure
Where’s Anushka and Khadizia and Samantha, Boo – Good lord
for the problem now was obvious – it really struck a chord.
I noticed the dog pen broken, the gate just lying on the ground
and I would bet my bottom dollar that darn fox has been around
taunting, tempting and annoying them – thinking ‘ they’re all locked in there’
forgetting to remember Wolfhounds have a lot of weight to bear
which if thrown against a wire mesh gate in anger and frustration
would defy the best of builders codes across this sunburnt nation;
and when backed up by a Pit Bull and a Kelpie and a Collie
well I hope the fox had Nikes on else he’d regret his folly.
He’d been to cheeky for years that one – strolling along the fence
with ears pricked and red tail bushy, seems he’d get his recompense
for his cheek and his comeuppance, though I hoped he would escape
‘cause I’d sneaking admiration for that ginger headed jape.
Oh yes I knew he was feral and the odd lamb he sometimes took
but he culled the weak and left the strong and never stole a chook.
Dusk approached and I went looking – giving whistles and a shout
best re pen them all securely, for you know who lets the dogs out.
Maureen Clifford ©.
