Old Bob. Poem by Terry Collett

Old Bob lived
in a cardboard box

under the stairs.
Don’t feed the mutt,

Granny said.
But you did, often,

with scraps from the table
or broken biscuits

from the battered tin
that Gran kept

on the lower shelf.
Bob was a short haired

fawn dog with eyes
like dark plump plums.

He’d snarl or growl
if anyone got too near

or touched his bowl,
except you; you he’d let

into his box and lick
your five year old face

and allow you to stroke
or hug or touch his tail.

He’d bark, snarl and growl
his dislike of humanity;

you, however, he seemed
to love, somehow.