How dare he walk so cockily
and stop to *** upon my tree?
He would not dare
(at least, I think)
erase the smell, the very stink,
so carefully placed right there by me.

A lot of nerve, this flea-bit hound
to trespass on this hallowed ground,
this patch of heaven here on earth,
my stoop, my tree, my sense of worth.

He should know better – I think he should
and if not, I’ll tell him good! --
for there are rules of doginess:
Never bark or make a mess
at home and always do your best
to smile and thank Mom for a bone.

And never *** on a fellow dog’s stoop
(It’s even worse if you ****).
Just walk by and wag your tail.  Oh,
and never, EVER, eat the mail!