Last pages.

This is the last story in the book, it is a poem called "DOG DAYS"

Pepper, Spot and Leopold

were sent by God, so I´ve been told,

in hopes we might all comprehend

that every dog is man´s best friend.

Hail hyperactive Myrtle,

owned by folks who are infertile.

Her owners boast as she runs wild,

"She´s not a spaniel, she´s our child!"

Hercules, a Pekingese,

was taken in and dipped for fleas.

Insecticide got in his eyes.

Now he´ll be blind until he dies.

Rags, the Shatwells´ Irish setter,

doubles as a paper shredder.

His lunch was bills and last year´s taxes,

followed by a dozen faxes.

Petunia May they say was struck

chasing down a garbage truck.

A former purebred Boston terrier,

her family´s wond´ring where to bury her.

Most every ev´ning Goldilocks

snacks from Kitty´s litter box.

Then on command she gives her missus

lots of little doggy kisses.

The Deavers´ errant pit bull, Cass,

bit the postman on the ass.

Her lower teeth destroyed his sphincter.

Now his walk´s a bit distincter.

Bitches loved the pug Orestes

till the vet snipped off his testes.

Left with only anal glands,

he´s now reduced to shaking hands.

Dachshund Skip from Winnipeg

loves to hump his master´s leg.

Every time he gets it up, he

stains Bill´s calves with unborn puppy.

A naughty Saint Bernard named Don

finds Polly´s Kotex in the john.

He holds the blood steak in his jaws

and mourns her coming menopause.

A summer day and shar-pei Boris

sits inside a parker Ford Taurus.

He yaps until his throat is sore,

then pants awhile and yaps some more.

An average day and poor Raquel´s

being shot with cancer cells.

Among her friends she likes to crab

that she´s a pointer, not a Lab.

Each night old Bowser licks his balls,

then falls asleep till nature calls.

He poops a stool, then though it´s heinous,

bends back down and licks his anus.