from “The Diary of My Beloved Beagle, My Long-Eared Shakespeare”

(July the First / 09:28AM / Year 4)

Oh, the shear savory goodness of this blissful treat,

Bringing me feral pleasure both fair and fleeting,

Tickling my buds with tastes so complex,

That I shall be ensured a most comfortable sleep

And to the goldliness of that toy that will soon come-hither,

unseen by me so far,

within that crinkly plastic bag that you most teasingly hoist,

perhaps from the fertile lands of faire Walmart

Now, I will address you directly new toy,

For you will be torn to endless shreds,

Both dotty eyes annihilated,

Your very soul beseiged by canine’s gaping yaw

Then you,

My dear toy,

Shall exist,

No more.