Ode To A Blown Coat
This is a poem about dogs who blow coat.
(Poodle owners, this is where you can gloat).
If you’re lucky it’s twice,
Or if you’re not, then it’s thrice
Per annum when all dog fur floats.
It creeps up on you slowly at first,
And it moves from bad then to worse.
You move room to room,
With your vacuum and broom,
But the roaming fur can’t be reversed.
In corners, fur tumbleweeds hide.
And the dander, it flies into your eyes!
Clothes are carefully chosen
To match the fur interwoven
Into all that you keep stored inside.
Dogs' coats soon look modestly bare,
Matching the slight disrepair
Of your home and your floors
Of your couches and doors,
And ev’rything still covered in hair.
“Why do you do it?” they cry!
“Endure the stress and the sty?”
...Our dogs are our hearts
And we don't wish to part.
The fur is a gift to remember them by.
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I'm getting devoured in fur right now, so I decided to write a poem to memorialize this trying time of year. This is a little reminder that I am a dog trainer, not a poet. But, hey, fun!
