Interrogating the Guilty Bulldog
We had him dead to rights, Herman and I.
On his lips was a smear of blueberry pie.
That bulldog is guilty as sin, we both agreed.
Behind his back, while he carefully peed.
Let’s get him to interrogation, Herman said.
He’s the detective, with a bit of hair of red.
I am Sergeant German, being a shepherd and all.
I thought that bulldog might break down and ball.
But no, he was tough, that little pie stealing squirt.
He was arrogant and haughty. He is a piece of dirt.
You are tough now, but you will eventually tell.
That little pug nosed ugly said “You go to hell!”
Detective Herman was mad now, I could see.
He had to run outside; pretending to pee.
I know the truth is that he wanted to cuff
Bulldog’s fat ears good and hard, no bluff!
This was the third pie that had been stolen this week.
From the window in our police kitchen without a squeak.
We were damned mad about having no pie.
I wanted to poke that bulldog really hard in the eye.
The boss told us finally to let the little weasel go.
It made me really hot, as you probably all know.
The next day we discovered a cat stealing a cherry pie.
So now I am less angry about the bulldog; guess you know why.
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