A Puppy for Xmas --

Plus a Puss!    
   
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I still recall a special Xmas memory from my youth    
about the time I cut my first behemoth baby tooth,    
my mummy learning through her bonne amie in Gay Paree --    
a culinary crackerjack as well as bel esprit --    
that any pup or puss on being weened at eight weeks old    
creates a most delicious dish served lukewarm, hot, or cold,    
while whether roasted, barbecued, quick nuked, or diced up raw,    
both pups and pusses satisfy the most demanding maw,    
and equally turn out a rich ragoût or piquant quiche,    
no matter if the flesh be roadkill sans a tag or leash;    
so Mummy grabbed some doggy bags and scoured all London Town,    
collecting mangled furry friends she kindly quick put down,    
till Xmas Day on scarfing five large loaves of French baguettes,    
five thousand family members fed on two cooked kinds of pets --    
the scraps of which, though slightly spoiled, I humbly gift to all    
for whom the same old slaughtered Xmas turkey grows banal.    
   
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