There’s a Ridgeback in my bed

There's a Ridgeback in my bed

Dreams of kibble fill his head

 

When I wake I'll hug him tight

I'll look into his eyes so bright

 

They are clear with amber glow

His coat is clean he's bred for show

 

I've never heard his stomach moan

For want of food or yummy bone

 

But wait there is another boy

What kind of life did he enjoy?

 

His coat is dull His eyes are dead

No loving hand to stroke his head

 

Will he make it through the night?

Was this deed an act of spite?

 

His teeth are broke What does *he* dream?

To drink from straws or lick ice cream?

 

I, for one, will not sit by

To hear about this Ridgeback die

 

I can't do much but this I'll do

I'm sending this poem out to you

 

In hopes that you will take the time

To send a "fifty" or a dime

 

Forgo your puppies latest toy

And think about this starving boy

 

(Barbara McClarty, © 1997)