Pickled-Knees

It can not be that she's referring to me
Little me so outstanding and neat.
Though they say that a rose by any old name
Will smell just as lovely and sweet.
"Pickled-knees" did she say? It can not be true.
Perhaps she's unable to read!
For everyone knows it spelt Pekingese
And that is the name of my breed.
Now she's picking me up and she's holding me close
And he's planted a kiss on my nose
I don't mind if she calls me a small 'pickled-knees'
It seems that she likes one of those!

 

May Day for a Drowning Crab (For Newfoundland's)

We are always very busy in our home beside the sea
And we like to go down to the beach where we can be quite free
But instead of basking in the sun or ambling up and down
We are forced to act as lifeguards to the many crabs that drown!
Of all the crabs the "Hermits" any senses seem to lack,
The ones that carry houses made of shells upon their back.
They trundle to the water and hurl themselves right in
Though it's obvious to anyone they never learned to swim.
They sink below the ocean crying tiny crabby tears
And a little cry of "May Day" greets our supersonic ears.
We all of us leap forward, a brave and stalwart band
And grabbing up the drowning one we place them on the sand.
We even give them the kiss of life, a good resounding lick,
Although the taste of Hermit Crab's enough to make us sick!)
And when we have them breathing using all our might and mane
Would you believe the silly things all scuttle back again!
After rescuing those crabs all day we're tired without a doubt
And at home our soaking wagging tails knock furniture about.
We saw some seagulls on the rocks, marooned where water flows,
First thing in the morning....... we are going to rescue THOSE!
I am large I admit, but I'm terribly fit
As I bumble my way round the place.
Though my coat is profuse, its really no use
If you can't see the look on my face.
When I go to a show, the people all know
As I stand there with feathers a flowing
In spite of my pride, if it weren't for the 'slide'
I couldn't see where I was going.
When my top knots not up, I'm a clumsy great pup
And can not be certainly sure
If the place that I've been (as it can not be seem)
Is the place that I went to before!
I get in a mess which causes distress
When I fall in the grass they've been mowing
But its no great surprise, with hair over my eyes
That I can not see where I am going!
That advert for paint would enrage any saint
With walls that appear from thin air.
If it happened at home I'd pack up my bone
And go without turning a hair.
I don't give a toss if my mistress is cross
When I tread on the work she's been sewing.
If she won't tie my fringe, I'll go out on the binge
Even if I can't see where I'm going.