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Rio Jansen Poem
My dog's as smart as a geek.
He can bark in English, Arabic, and Greek.
He’s expert in canine mathematics,
can discuss dog-fight aerodynamics,
and is fluent in bow-wow doublespeak.
And yours?
Would it be okay if later today
I brought Bixby by to play
with Boris and Doris
and Horace and Morris
and Eddie and Ollie and Ray?
My dog always barks at men who look suspicious,
and at strange cats who nose around his food and water dishes.
But you'll never hear him have a barking spree ~
or look with anything other than utter glee ~
at the neighborhood women, whom he finds downright delicious.
I met a woman at the Maine Wienerfest
I thought her doggy was cuter than all the rest.
But she said she had her eye
on my handsome little guy.
In fact, she said she liked my little wiener the best.
“We took our dog to get tutored.”
“Took your dog to get neutered?”
“No - what I said was - we took our dog to get tutored.”
“Tutored for what?”
“What to expect after we get him neutered.”
Trying to teach my dog a new trick hasn’t proven to be prudent.
Perhaps, I'm just too lousy of a teacher, or he's too lousy of a student.
I can show him a thousand times how to sit ~
he just doesn't want any part of it.
And the more I insist, the more he becomes downright impúdent.
Sometimes when my dog is sleeping next to my chair,
he can be the world champ at defiling the air.
At times his toots are so lethal
that I fear that his doggy diesel
might cause an explosion ~ right then and there.
My dog is more stubborn than a paddock of mules.
He runs around the house and breaks every one of my rules.
But if I didn't just let him,
it would greatly upset him,
and the house would resound with his whines and his pules.
My dog and I got caught in a sudden winter storm,
with a whipping wind and a snow fall way above the norm.
And my dog looked at me with a face that said, "Hey, Dad!
This storm is really, really bad!
Can’t we just go home ~ where it's dry, cozy, and warm?"
Sometimes, my dog's behavior is anything but mild.
He's been known to outdo the hissy fits of any two-year old child.
Today, when I said "No!," he barked and he cursed,
and he swore, as a parent, I was the absolute worst!
And when I pretended to cry, I'm pretty sure that he smiled.
My dog's been in such a mood,
that I actually thought about divorcing the dude.
It all started with the new kibble
that he refuses to even nibble.
And for days now, he's been acting all obstreperous and rude.
My dog can act awfully bizarre,
like a clown with an exploding cigar.
Of a sudden, he can dart all around,
flip on his back, roll on the ground,
and then look at you with a face that says, “Hardy-har-har.”
My dog knows what he should and what he shouldn’t
My dog knows what he can and what he can't.
But that doesn't mean he'll always remember ~
no ~ remember it always? ~ he certainly shan't.
My dog's not so good in an off-leash park.
He always tries to hump the young lassies and won't stop when they bark.
And then the owners, all the while,
glare at me, as if I've unleased some degenerate pedophile.
So I have to go corral him and say to the little Romeo guy,
"No, no, no, no, no! You don’t get to kiss each one of 'em good-bye!"
Three times a day, my dog and I
go for a walk under God's gray-blue sky.
And when we see any injustice
that totally disgusts us,
we both give it a disapproving eye.
I allow the dog that I got
to do and get away with quite a lot ~
to me, he can do no wrong.
Except when I'm in bed,
trying to make love to my new girl, Ivette,
and he immediately starts humping along.
I heard one dog bark at another:
"You're uglier than you're very own mother."
"Oh, yeah? And you're uglier than your dad
after he really started looking bad."
Isn’t it sad to see such enmity between stepsister and stepbrother?
The only dogs with whom my dog will converse
are dogs who are deeply steeped in doggy verse.
And they'll sit there all day and recite
every doggy joy and every doggy plight
they've experienced so far in their dog-eat-dog universe.
My doggy's sniffing is like people perusing the news.
And each sniff gives him the info that he can use
to work out, in his doggy imagination,
epic works of doggy versification
with which his doggy audience to delight and amuse.
My dog will sniff any old where.
If it embarrasses, he doesn't care.
So you better pick up your clothes,
or he'll rifle through them with his wet nose,
and run off with your rosy-pink underwear.
Hi, I'm here to atone
for my dog stealing your stinky dog's bone.
So here is a treat
of two pickled pigs’ feet,
and a big bottle of doggy eau de cologne.
On a dog walk, I saw a woman with a beard.
She fixed her eyes on me and intensely stared.
So, I decided to stare right back,
whereupon she snarled, "What'd you staring at, Jack?"
I said, "I was just wondering ~ do you think I look weird?"
When I run out of bones for my dog to chew,
I head over to my good friend, butcher Lou.
I say butcher Lou, what kind of bones you got?
He says, "I got bones from an orc and a werewolf I shot."
"Butcher Lou, my dog's not picky — either one will do."
Nothing makes me go into a greater fit
than, when walking my dog, I step in another dog's s.h.i.t.
I wish a law could be created
so that when jerks who don't pick up their dog’s feces are located
you can rub their effing faces in it!
It's astounding the amount of sharp, broken glass
that I pick up on the sides of roads that my dog and I pass.
I swear half America must be driving around drunk,
throwing empty bottles out their window in an alcoholic funk ~
in another fine example of pure, home-grown, American class.
Copyright © Rio Jansen | Year Posted 2025
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