She was just a little poodle,
A lovely apricot.
She looked as sweet as sugar,
But sweetness she was not.
She ruled the house, our canine queen,
And reigned like royalty,
While we, her humble subjects,
Served her with loyalty.
She’d a bark that was ferocious
For such a tiny pup.
When strangers came to our front door,
They thought she’d eat them up.
She’d stand behind the window
And growl at passers-by.
We couldn’t break her of this,
No matter how we’d try.
I’d tell folks when they came inside
They’d no need to take fright.
Her bark which sounded dangerous
Was much worse than her bite.
When preacher came to dinner once
And brought his family,
She nipped the preacher’s youngest son
Just underneath his knee.
“I thought you said she wouldn’t bite.”
His words were sharp and terse.
I said “That’s not exactly true—
I said ‘her bark is worse.’”
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