(with apologies to Jenny Joseph)
When I am an old dog I shall expect to be served
While wearing a tie-dyed bandanna covered with DAP,
And I shall spend my entire day under a soft blanket
Covered with bones, and get pills in Black Forest ham.
I shall pee on the patio when I am tired,
And steal food from Trixie’s bowl despite her growls,
And yammer at the couch when I think it’s bedtime,
No matter what is on television right now.
I shall refuse to go potty in the rain
And drink lots and lots and lots (and lots) of water,
Then hack and cough.
You can beg for food but refuse to take it,
Or eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
Or only Stella & Chewy’s for a week,
And hoard stuffies and pillows and blankets and swipe Xanax.
But now I must wear a cone so I do not lick,
And get fluids and supplements and potions,
And set a bad example for young Dennis.
I must demand that Dada give me his dinner.
But really I have been practicing all along.
And people who know me are not too shocked and surprised,
That suddenly I am old, and expect to be served.