Raggle Poem by Frank Avon

Raggle

Rating: 3.5


What do you do with a raggle?

Do you wear it or wave it?
Trash it or save it?

Run it or close it?
Prune it or hose it?

Do you sing it or win it?
Sweep it or spin it?

Or none-of-the-above it?
Mainly you just love it!

Twice each day of the week,
you lead it on a leash.

For it's a crossbreed that's legal
between a rat terrier and a beagle.

It has a rat terrier's ears and nose
and the need to dig for moles;

it has a beagle's gentle habits,
and the need to chase after rabbits.

The main thing that's gotta be known tho:
you don't own him; he's gonna own you.

He sleeps in your bed at night,
and barks at even a slight

invasion of his space.
'UPS man, this is MY place.'

He jumps up in your face
and kisses you on your nose
time and time again.
Yep, he's one of those!

He's quiet watching a DVD till he
hears the doorbell ring,
then he takes a fling
at the door, even if it rang on tv.

What do you do with a raggle?
You watch his tail joyfully waggle,
you stand by while he chases a gaggle
of geese, and you refuse to haggle

when he insists
that your hamburger is his.
If you let him have his way
you're sure to regret the day.

When he's been digging in the mud,
he'll track in all this crud,
so you put him in the tub,
and give him a rub and a scrub.

He chooses a chair as his throne,
and goes there to gnaw on a bone;
if you protest, he'll go and hide it
and dare you to try and find it.

He's a blessing and you know it,
and he likes for you to show it:
rub his belly,
share your jelly.

If you leave him at a pound
he'll whimper without a sound.
You'll see it in his eyes
but when you return for him,
he'll react with a show of surprise,
for he knows you really yearn for him.

With a raggle, just what do you do?
Well, you love him and let him love you.

That's all.
Have a ball!
Or throw it down the hall,
and he'll chase it with his all,

his tail all a-waggle.
He never will straggle,
for he's just proud to be a raggle.

Monday, September 22, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: dog
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