I could see it was a rough-mutt groom day. . .
Soap-soakin’ reject from the pound.
Those ticks stick; weakened is this hound.
This cur’s grown erect—get it down!
Craps lots, misses throne—carpet is brown.

Thirsty, gorging on my hot snack—bad cur!
He’s rapaciouser than a swine.
Tests my patience; I tell him to “mind!”
Fido bites my hand, and so I bind
Him and start to clean. . .but then I find:

Fleas came, fleas came. . . .
Hound fleas!

Now I’m lookin’ at a rashed back, rump flay;
Boot’s rent, bleeding; mutt looks like a weir.
Moan-mutt barkness—fleas chomping his rear.
This dog’s shot—lunch for feeding throng.
This fleas-came foment mean’s “so long!”

Fleas came, he’s game
For fleas.