Per kind permission of the author, Bob Magor
We pensioned off old Blue the dog
But while Granny was elated,
So it was this Sunday morning
When a canine gourmet odour
And the source of his excitement
For its woolly corpse was spreading
It was a dog's idea of heaven
Then an idea formed within him
He would take it home for later,
So he gripped the carcass firmly,
And the only shade on offer
Then the dog and the sheep both rested
He was revving up the faithful
As he roared of fire and brimstone
And they all cried "Hallelujah"
He proceeded up the roadway
Where the matron, in a panic
And the members at the bowls club
But Blue lugged his prize on homewards
There old Boozing Bill was resting
When a stench awoke his slumber
And he missed the Sunday session
Meanwhile Blue could see Gran's gateway
But there was movement in the back streets
And Blue felt the road vibrating
But he wasn't into sharing,
Through this door he sought asylum
And Blue shot beneath a table
Now the table Blue had chosen
And the sergeant sat bolt upright
Then the sarge leapt up in horror
And he lay, somewhat bewildered
With first thought self-preservation
There were muffled bangs and yelping
As he blasted in a panic
And the cappaccino maker
And Nick the Greek, the owner,
At short range it wasn't pretty.
Then the smoke detector whistled
And the dogs that still were breathing,
And the echoes still were ringing
Its head was gone and sev'ral legs
He leapt the fence at Grandma's
Now old Gran had influenza
And she looked out from her front fence
Then the fire brigade rushed past her,
"You just stay here like a good dog,"
When old age got him down.
And we sent him in for company
To old Grandma in the town.
Blue still craved the great outdoors.
And he'd roam the town exploring
While old Granny did her chores.
Blue was fossicking about
Through the paddocks near the township
On his normal daily scout.
Overpowered his sense of smell.
Though his eyesight had diminished
His old sniffer still worked well.
Was reposed down by the creek.
Where a sheep had met his maker
For the best part of a week.
And the air was far from fresh
From this rancid flyblown carcass
With its seething greenish flesh.
And old Blue, he rubbed and rolled
Till he ponged just like the sheep did
And with ecstasy extolled.
As he gave a gentle tug,
And he found the carcass followed
Like a matted lumpy rug.
It should last a week or two-
If he stored it in his kennel
He could keep his prize from view.
Proudly into town he went.
But his load proved fairly heavy
And Blue's energy soon spent.
Was this building with a bell.
And he dragged his prize towards it
With its flies and feral smell.
In the front porch of the church.
And old Blue looked up the gangway
At the parson on his perch.
To repent to save their worth
And said Satan was the culprit
For all rotten things on earth.
And redemption for the throng,
Up the aisle came Satan's presence
In this God forsaken pong.
And they fell as one to pray.
But by now old Blue had rested
And he hadn't time to stay.
With the woolly corpse in tow.
With a shortcut through the nursing home
The quickest way to go.
Counted heads in mortal fright.
With a smell like that they'd surely lost
A patient through the night.
Lowered all their flags half mast.
offed their hats and stood in silence
For the funeral going past.
Travelling past the bowling club.
Till he took a breather under
The verandah of the pub.
Sleeping off the night before.
To await the Sunday session
When they opened up the door.
Which was highly on the nose.
And he thought his pickled body
Had begun to decompose.
When he ran home to his wife.
To proclaim the shock announcement
He was off the booze for life.
At the far end of the street.
So he started up the pavement
With his ripe and tasty treat.
As the town dogs sniffed in deep.
They broke chains and climbed high fences
For a piece of Blue's dead sheep.
From the stamp of canine feet,
As this pack of thirty mongrels
Came advancing down the street.
So he sought a quick escape
And he spied a nearby building
With a door that stood agape.
But his presence caused a shriek,
For he'd chosen the local deli
That was run by Nick the Greek.
Where the sheep and he could hide.
But the dog pack was relentless
And they followed him inside.
Was a double-booked mistake.
With a law enforcement sergeant
Slipping coffee on his break.
With a dog between his feet.
And his eyes began to water
rom this dead decaying meat.
But in haste he slipped and fell
Falling down amongst Blue's mutton
With it's all embracing smell.
In the gore, flat on his back,
When the mongrel pack descended
In a frenzied dog attack.
From the rows of teeth he faced,
The sarge fumbled for his pistol
In its holster at his waist.
As the random shots rang out.
And a whine of bouncing bullets
Off the brickwork all about.
From beneath the blood and gore
A front window and the drink fridge
Were both added to the score.
Copped a mortal wound and died.
Hissing steam, it levitated,
Falling frothing on its side.
Grabbed a shotgun in his fright.
Blasting into the confusion
Of the frantic canine fight.
Dogs were pasted on the wall.
There was laminex in splinters,
Clouds of dog hair covered all.
With the gunsmoke in the air,
Which set off the sprinkler's system
And a siren gave a blare.
Most dismembered and unwell,
Dragged themselves away in terror
From this pizza shop from Hell.
When beneath the dying heap,
There emerged old Blue, still dragging
At the remnants of his sheep.
But it hadn't lost its smell.
In the armistice that followed
Blue decided not to dwell.
For his feet had sprouted wings -
Pure adrenalin propelled him
Fleeing dogs and guns and things.
And had lost her sense of smell.
With Blue's sheep now in the garden
That was probably just as well.
At the town in disarray.
At an ambulance, police cars
And the RSPCA
Flashing lights of rosy hue.
And she hugged the old dog tightly -
He'd protect her, would old Blue.
Grandma told him with a frown.
"Cause you've no idea the trouble
You can get into in town".
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