this ol’ hound is proper glitchy
incredibly itchy, unfeasibly twitchy
he harrumphs and garrumphs when he rolls on his back
his big wiry paws paddling then slack
like he’s having a canine heart attack
then he sneezes
freezes
carries on as he pleases

this ol’ hound is proper chaotic
sometimes floppy, sometimes robotic
he runs up the stairs like a rugby team in boots
but he’s sneaky when it suits
creeping round the kitchen to sniff with his snoots
so beware
in there
or you’ll trip and break a hip I swear

this ol’ hound is proper crazy
fifty percent hyperactive, fifty percent lazy
he sleeps so deep you can watch him dream
gamboling through landscapes of rabbits and streams
giant foil trays of doggy supremes
till he wakes with a start
a sad little bark
back to reality with a broken heart

this ol’ hound is proper distracting
it’s impossible to work with the way he’s acting
staring at you long and hard
then marching around the room with a placard
‘Wark!’ (which – you’ll admit – for a dog isn’t bad)
till you crack
fill your pockets with snacks
take him round the park and back