A dog’s day – No Way

A dog’s day – No Way

I hate being a dog on Christmas Day,
I’m wrapped in tinsel, and sad to say,
No time for breakfast, no time for a walk,
I’m surrounded by legs and talk, talk, talk.

They make me do the usual thing,
wear the antlers, and a collar of Bling.
That makes them laugh, or coo, or smile,
forgetting I haven’t been out for a while.

The pans are silent, the dinner’s on hold,
to listen to the Queen, whilst the food gets cold.
I nudge  a knee here, an elbow there,
I even try my soulful stare.

Then I get a pat, and told to “Look Out “,
I search for dropped morsels, there’s only a sprout.
The smells are making my stomach growl,
I wonder if it’s time for my ear splitting howl.

At last someone notices that I haven’t been fed,
not before time, it has to be said.
I race to the kitchen, tongue hanging out,
to be given left overs, and that awful sprout.

It’s gone quiet in the sitting room,
I know why, and it fills me with gloom.
I hear them all snoring, so I wait, I lay.
I hate being a dog on Christmas Day.