The Drool Of The Dog Brigade

I never thought I would live in a two-dog household . . . but now I do.  At every dinner I endure the plaintive looks of hungry dogs — and we experience another episode of pooches doing whatever they can to get noticed and be rewarded with a morsel from the table.  With dogs to the right and left, I couldn’t help but think of the immortal poem The Charge of the Light Brigade.  And so, with apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

The Drool Of The Dog Brigade

Inching up, inching up,
Closer and fronter,
Closer to food and table
Came the dog hunter:
Forward, the Dog Brigade!
Hungry they are, if spayed
Hoping for chow, they prayed
Came the dog hunter.

Forward, the Dog Brigade!
Was there a pooch dismay’d?
Not while the food, it stayed
Ready for plunder:
Theirs not to feel a fool,
Heedless of obedience school,
Theirs but to sit and drool,
Stolid staring was their rule
Came the dog hunter.

Dog to the right of him,
Dog to the left of him,
Dog down in front of him
Drooled in wonder;
Ignored by the eating man,
Nightly antics then began,
Saliva glands so freely ran,
According to common plan
They’d bumble and blunder.

Silently, they made their plea,
Wide-eyed as dogs can be,
Putting head on human knee,
Sad-faced pathos was the key
For the dog hunter:
All while dog slobber gushed
Dog paws against legs brushed;
Eating so became more rushed
All sound was fully hushed,
Sat the dog hunter.

Dog to the right of him,
Dog to the left of him,
Dogs, with faces set and grim
Drooled in wonder;
Dog heads, upwards turn’d,
Dog lessons, gone unlearn’d,
Dog entreaties, flatly spurn’d
Dog appetites slowly burned,
For the dog hunter.

When will their hunger fade?
And their efforts be repaid?
Two dogs did wonder.
Humbly, they seek your aid!
Drool on, oh, Dog Brigade,
Famished dog hunter!

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