Glove and Scrotum: a Puppy Tale
The vet was booked for Monday:
the pup would be neutered,
at seven months and none too soon -
he'd started humping his bed, swaggering
in the park, bossing other dogs,
with his growing testicles
and the makings of a proud pink erection
('his little lipstick', a friend called it).
Starve him before his op - standard advice.
But first the phone rang (Friday) -
Lorraine here, and I'm still only part way
through the cleaning, but the puppy!
He's eaten the soap from the shower recess,
and well, I've got most of it back.
And while my back was turned,
he swallowed one of my rubber gloves.
Sorry for your worry, Lorraine.
We expect the glove will turn up
in a day or two, just like the sock
he wolfed down a fortnight ago.
If a sock can pass right through him,
why not a glove?
Time passed - my sharp eye
round the back yard identified no glove.
How far might it have proceeded?
Sunday showed us - at the feet of two guests,
twelve year old girls at their most squeamish,
Vanya arched his back and spewed forth
a great grey mound surmounted by
a five-pointed shape. Welcome back, glove.
But why so much squealing girls?
No need to leave the house.
Haven't your cats ever done such a deed?
Monday morning, puppy enters the vet's,
cocky and curious as always,
is signed in and left for the day.
At five we reclaim him, groggy and slow.
There's a black thread stitching his suture,
and an inflamed empty scrotum
just behind his idle little lipstick.
Max Richards
Doncaster, Melbourne
Wednesday 8 February 2006
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