Pet-Sit Panic
I once volunteered to babysit a dog; really, how hard could that be?
She looked at me with pitiful eyes, “Would you please watch my little puppy?”
“Sure”, I said, “I’d love to do it. Just bring him over tonight.”
“A little puppy”, is what she said, but that description didn’t fit him just right.
Only eight months old a puppy might be, that concept isn’t too hard,
But “little” isn’t an accurate word when describing a St. Bernard.
I didn’t slobber-proof myself or my things, didn’t know I had to do it,
My rain coat on and plastic coverings, was the only way I could get through it.
What he didn’t chew or eat right through he slobbered from bottom to top;
I chased him around with a leap and a bound; tracing every step with my new mop.
When she returned at the end of the week my apartment was quite the mess;
“Thank you so much, how can I repay you?” “Please, next time just loose my address!”
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
