Red Dog Poem by Kenneth English

Bickering squirrels up in a tree
On the porch watches the red dog.
In and toward the hound waits,
Anticipating one at least to fall.

Goodness gracious
Her luck is true
Like bugles their cries blew
And down like a brick one flew.

Since she'd know this all along
The dog was eager to put
That tree rat where it belongs,
On mere moments afoot.

Yet the squirrel was not quite dead
It knew what the hound had planned,
But ol' Red would have none
though the plan had been grand.

I watched with laughter
On my lips and wonder in my eyes,
Despite what did occur
Hereafter, reflecting a rippling thought-
If only I had the spirt of her!