Rudi's Coat of Farms
Upon his dogself he does
spread, horse feed long past the horse.
To show his doggly pride in style, a thorough job of course.
East side first then the west through spent hay he doth slide.
A Da Vinci job I'd say myself, head to tail, both sides.
To him this is his battle cloak, his hunter's coat of arms.
To me he is a reeking stench, as many shepherd's farms.
So now for me to take the quest, disrobe the mighty beast.
Not a task I swallow light as war I fear at least.
Why he does this I know not it makes my wits to rattle.
I grip a pound of gray dog flesh and hold tight for the battle.
He bucks and bolts to pull away but I hold fast my grip.
I spray the hose, he jolts again, I vow he'll never slip.
Now comes the time most pain to him by which I ply the soap.
I lather up the this doggy flesh who smells so more a goat.
Again I rinse this time the thrice, foul odor wanes away.
Now again of dog he smells, Lord, make it last the day.
At last I feel I've won the war, the beast his ears wet droop.
But fool am I to ever think he'll nay more roll in poop.
Posted to the Weim List, by William D. Radtke, 7/29/98