She says that it’s typical that I’ve stopped moulting,
No furballs and hair rolling black and revolting
Across her clean floors, floating into her dinner,
I thought she’d be pleased, being onto a winner.
She says it’s not fair that it’s so warm and sunny…
I know that she’s weird, but you know, it’s not funny,
‘Cause she isn’t happy to walk when it’s raining…
But now it’s all springtime and she’s still complaining!
She says that all winter I’ve been bringing mud in
(And other odd things that my paws may have stood in)
But barring occasional treats that I’m dropping,
The floors don’t need hoovering, let alone mopping!
She moans that it’s tidy, and no dust can settle,
And frankly, that’s putting me right on my mettle,
‘Cause if I’m behaving, and she’s got the blues…
Then what does a loyal small dog have to do?
She says it’s not my fault, but nobody’s calling,
That having it clean just for once is quite galling
And soon as our visitor’s coming again
She guarantees moulting and dusting and rain.
So as she looked sad, I could see I’d been shirking
My duty, so soon as she left, I got working,
I pulled down the cushions, got toys out and threw them,
Destuffing a couple so that I could chew them.
So, when she came home, she had oodles of cleaning,
I felt that I’d given her day back some meaning!
“Oh, Small Dog,” she whispered, “Just look at this mess!”
And I looked with some pride I will have to confess.
But somehow my efforts, it seemed, didn’t please here,
I’m sure that she thought I had done it to tease her,
There’s no pleasing two-legses sometimes at all…
So I may as well just stick to chasing my ball.