There was a time. there really
was, when I was young and tender.
When show dog meant a Disney
star, and bitch was not a gender.
I went to bed at night at half
past ten. I went to Church on Sunday.
On Saturday I baked the beans,
and did the wash Monday.
But then I got a certain pup,
and an erstwhile friend said "show".
And soI did, and so I do.
Oh, what I didn't know!!
Once I dressed with flair and
style, that was the life, don't knock it!
Now every dress from bed to
ball must have a good bait pocket.
I used to have a certain air.
I wallowed in perfume.
I used to smell like Nuir d'
Amour, now I smell like Mr. Groom!
My furniture was haute decor:
my pets, a tank of guppies.
Now I have furniture that is
unstuffed, and well adjusted puppies.
I used to long for furs and jewels
and a figure classed super!
But now, the thing I yearn for
most is a nice new pooper scooper.
I was taught to be well groomed,
no matter where I went -
Now all the grooming that I
do is in the grooming tent.
While once I spoke in pristine
prose, in dulcete tones and frail-
I now am using language that
would turn a sailor pale.
I adored a man who murmed verse,
through intimate little dinners.
But now the words I thrill to
hear are just three - "Best of Winners"
I rise at dawn and pack the car
- the road ahead's a long one.
The one I've routed on the map
is invariably the wrong one.
I really love the doggy life.
I wouldn't care to change it.
But when I get that Best in
Show, I could maybe rearrange it.
And when my days on earth are
done, I'll go without much nudging.
Just give me three weeks closing
date and let me know who's
judging.
