049 • Little Ned (finale)
Tonight sees the funeral feast
Of Ned the Chihuahua (dec’d).
As principle mourner
I’ll crouch in the corner
And hurl chunks of Pal at the priest.
One might well have passed the redundant stocks of dog-food to another pet-owner, but pelting the ‘priest’ (ie the creature’s sobbing ex-proprietor) with it is a much more cathartic option. [See also here]
4 thoughts on “049 • Little Ned (finale)”
The comment made me laugh more than the poem on this occasion … and for some reason I envisage Fleabag’s ‘hot priest’ trying to officiate while sobbing.
Hi Piffle,
The celebrant in this case is the very person who encouraged Little Ned to preen his privates in the marital bed, which is what set this sorry train of events in progress. Any sympathy would arguably be misplaced. Too often our kindly impulses are the authors, or authoresses, of their own undoing.
Rick
But what principle are you mourning? That of providing funeral feasts for dogs? Or at all?
Hi Pedanthony,
That’s a reasonable, though complex, question. I think I can best answer it obliquely, by admitting that I am in general extremely keen on funerals for dogs, though I dare say there are one or two that have learnt not to yap, snap, and crap indiscriminately, and consequently deserve to persist a while in the realm of the living.
Yours (five times bitten, ten times shy)
Rick