In the Doghouse

Again...

Hello all. It’s been a while between posts as Hattie has been very busy helping me (Mr Smith) organise open mics, live variety performances, play productions, and other nonsense. She’s also in the process of creating her own “Just Giving” page to raise money for Guide Dogs UK, and will be posting links later this week so you can all give generously and feel that warm glow of satisfaction that doing a nice thing always generates!

Much more admin coming up in the next few months, but Hattie didn’t want to leave you hanging and has found some time to post the following poem.

IN THE DOGHOUSE

I’m in the doghouse.
Again.
With hindsight,
running into the road
to grab that sandwich crust
was probably not the best idea
I’ve ever had,
especially with that level of traffic around,
and while wearing the full hard harness.
But nobody died.
NOBODY DIED.
I think HE’s over-reacting.

Even worse,
the crust was rubbish:
not a bit of filling left,
not even a scrape of margarine;
just stale crust
with green bits.
I still ate it, though,
because beggars can’t be choosers.

Thinking about it,
“in the doghouse” is a bit ironic, isn’t it,
if you’re a dog?
What better place to be?
I should call this poem “In the Man House”,
because when he's got the hump on
it's the absolute pits.
I might change it later.
If I can be bothered.

Can I have some kibble now?

Thanks for reading / listening, and do pop back soon for that Just Giving link. Meanwhile, why not share or subscribe and make my little day?
Love,
Hattie xx