Junk-Yard Dog
My mom was a cur, but a big one
My dad I never did know
In my litter there were nine of us
Junk yard born, two years ago
Mom gave birth to us in an old car
In the back seat, where it’s dry
It was winter time and snow outside
Their first night, three pups would die
No milk; four died without eyes open
My brother hit by a truck
From my litter, only I survive
Is that my “good” or “bad” luck?
For the "Dog Gone Tales" contest
Composed 06/23/2012
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