Magpie Tales #3 – A Tale of an Imaginary Dog


The Labours of Hercules

Let me tell you a tale of our Mexican dog,

He is thin as a rail, his eyes bulge like a frog,

But if you expect him to be shy and weak,

Think again, for his namesake harks back to the Greek.

Herculean effort he puts into each day,

Triumphs victorious, not simply, “Sit! Stay!”

He’ll wrestle the cat with the long ginger mane,

Then whiz on a hydrant, or some mister’s cane.

He’s dragged off a rat, that he’s dealt a death-blow,

And poor guinea-pig he once lost in the snow.

He’s dug out the rabbit hutch, scattering hay,

And yipped at the crows ‘til they all flew away.

We thought the Great Dane would for sure take no bull,

But our little Herc, to its ear gave a pull,

Shoved his head in the fish-tank where sea-horses bobbed,

Then stole granny’s girdle with glee and he lobbed

It up in the air for our guests to enjoy,

As we looked on in horror at our little boy!

Had he finished his labours? Oh no, not quite yet;

He stomped on the still-suckling babe-trio set,

Then toppled the apples of gold in the dish;

A bit of reprieve when he’s fixed, is our wish,

But as if to confirm that he cannot be curbed

He challenges Rottweiler’s, three, unperturbed.

The only time Herc isn’t causing us *bleep*,

Is when he winds down and is finally asleep.

I suppose if we gave our Chihuahua a name,

like Tiny or Midget he’d be much more tame,

So all his adventures on us you can lay—

Living up to his namesake’s the price that we pay.

We’re thinking of chaining him up to a pound, (kilo)

But knowing our pup, he’ll just lug it around!

Kat Mortensen©2010 Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

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Bedtime story


Photo courtesy of Flickr

Companion Animals

If I go before you
Make sure you do
What you said
And get yourself
That big ‘ol Great Dane
or Wolfhound
Rescued, from the pound
To take my place
In our bed.

If I’m dead,
I’ll only be at peace
Given my release
From the spirit-world
If I’m cognizant
Of the fact
You’ve upheld
To the pact

If you go
Before I
I’ll cry, but try
To fill the void
With cats and curs
As mem’ry of you
Blurs, but
Never disappears

It won’t be you–
Your scent,
Your sound,
Your slide
Beneath the sheet,
Your hot legs
And cold feet,
The animals
I’ll keep
Will help me

Kathleen Mortensen©2009

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape