ode to a hound

dear dog,

you will be the death of me

getting me up before the clock strikes three,

then, again when the clock strikes four

I should kick your mangy-ass right out the door.

dear dog,

you will be the death of me

just like the bird you lured from the tree

all stiff and bare

left on the ground

what a lovely surprise I must have found

you are not a cat

you are not a killing machine

you are not starving

you are far from lean

dear dog,

why must you always find trouble, 

digging up the garden,

turning the compost bin to rubble,

chewing on the HVAC pipes,

tunneling under the fence,

your behavior really has an awful stench.

in fact,

it really 

gripes

my ass.