GraybeardGhost
Well-known member
Here's something I conjured up in the last few days, inspired in part by a poem recently posted by another member.* It's just a silly bit of fluff, but I like the metaphor. Sorry it's not more cheerful.
They tied a tin can to the tail of a dog,
And let him run loose down the street.
They tied on aspersions and judgments and guilt,
Then added despair and defeat.
They tied insecurities onto him, too,
By saying he was ugly and fat.
They told him he wasn't a good enough dog,
That he should have been born as a cat.
The poor little dog thought, "It must be my fault!"
As they tied all this junk to his tail,
So he quietly took every new piece of trash—
Not a whimper, a whine, or a wail.
They said he was lazy, they said he was slow,
That his legs were too short and his ears hung too low.
They told him his spots were all in the wrong place,
That he had a weird, asymmetrical face.
They said that his coat was the wrong shade of brown,
That he was the ugliest, mangiest,
Stupidest, craziest,
Worthless-est dog in the town.
They tied a tin can to the scared, little dog,
And everything else they could find,
Then they laughed, and they jeered as he ran out of sight,
Still dragging his torment behind.
And the little dog ran, and he ran, and he ran.
He just wanted a place he could hide,
But he couldn't find anywhere, anyplace safe,
So he ran, and he ran,
And he ran, and he ran,
And he ran,
And he ran
'Til he died.
And that is the end of this tale of a dog.
The lesson is clear, you'll agree:
Be kind to the dogs whom you meet as you go,
For the next little dog could be someone you know.
The next one could even be you, you see,
Or the next little dog could be me.
*Out of respect for the aforementioned member, I'll keep that person's identity to myself, and with it the embarrassment of being associated in any way with this ill-begotten atrocity.
Dog Story
They tied a tin can to the tail of a dog,
And let him run loose down the street.
They tied on aspersions and judgments and guilt,
Then added despair and defeat.
They tied insecurities onto him, too,
By saying he was ugly and fat.
They told him he wasn't a good enough dog,
That he should have been born as a cat.
The poor little dog thought, "It must be my fault!"
As they tied all this junk to his tail,
So he quietly took every new piece of trash—
Not a whimper, a whine, or a wail.
They said he was lazy, they said he was slow,
That his legs were too short and his ears hung too low.
They told him his spots were all in the wrong place,
That he had a weird, asymmetrical face.
They said that his coat was the wrong shade of brown,
That he was the ugliest, mangiest,
Stupidest, craziest,
Worthless-est dog in the town.
They tied a tin can to the scared, little dog,
And everything else they could find,
Then they laughed, and they jeered as he ran out of sight,
Still dragging his torment behind.
And the little dog ran, and he ran, and he ran.
He just wanted a place he could hide,
But he couldn't find anywhere, anyplace safe,
So he ran, and he ran,
And he ran, and he ran,
And he ran,
And he ran
'Til he died.
And that is the end of this tale of a dog.
The lesson is clear, you'll agree:
Be kind to the dogs whom you meet as you go,
For the next little dog could be someone you know.
The next one could even be you, you see,
Or the next little dog could be me.
*Out of respect for the aforementioned member, I'll keep that person's identity to myself, and with it the embarrassment of being associated in any way with this ill-begotten atrocity.
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