My Old Dog Named Puddles That Can'T Hold Her Water Poem by Ted Sheridan

There was a queer smell in the house and it wasn’t the dog
Having provided her with the customary bi weekly bath
She smelled only a tad like a hound
A suspicious electric air dispersion heater
Had been on all night and remained plugged into the living room's wall
Other than that there was nothing in the house that was seeming odd
Just the smell...
Of crab bake or spoiled fish, maybe shrimp or clams
Something to do with seafood or piss was my best guess
While the dog did her best not to appear the least bit concerned
From the choking but non deadly fumes in the room
Checking the parrot for signs and symptoms of suffocation
He squawked the all clear with the greatest of volume
And by now the dog was observed covering her face with her paws
The search continued__
My wife is the one with the nose for scandals and their smells
She approached it from the empty clothes hamper
To the guest room's shower
Looking for something damp or wet that had begun to mold
Seeming under duress but not being held for further questioning
The dog behaving suspiciously was seen leaving the room
By removing her shoes my inquisitive wife put on her Sherlock Holmes cap
And dug her toes and heels into the carpet's nap
Because if there was one thing she knows
It is a fact that some women and dogs just can’t hold their water
Tiring of the search I grabbed a beer to clean my pallet
About to retire to my upstairs office for a go at some storytelling
I stepped in a puddle at the top of the stairs
Suddenly finding myself flying through the air without the benefit of chute
Then landing most soundly with a thump on my rump
Spilling not so much as one mere driblet from my bottle
I had by accident quite literally discovered
The source of the odd and queer odor…
And the dog….well she just sighed with her obvious relief __

2007 © T Sheridan