Angry Trees

**Written for Dog Daze competition**

Say now, what have...

Whoa! Easy there killer.
I seem to remember
when getting to know you
involved a dinner...
or a drink...

Yeah, this is me,
growling and howling
in the New Year
with a scratch behind
the ear and a pat
on the head, and a
boot to the ass
from whatever
joker was put in charge
of what happens next.
I mean, I had plans here,
all of which
involved walking erect,
opposable thumbs and a...

Freaking itch.
So where was I?

I was just thinking
that maybe the Hindu
might be onto something.
Talk about no forewarning.
I mean, I get it;
but one would think that
jumping from one species
to the next, there'd be a
bit... you know, transition.
That if you were going
to become what they had once
taught us were merely
senseless creatures;
that they might at least
choose a more defined breed.
Maybe set you up with
some hot owner that just adores...

Okay, that could be bad.
Maybe a porno dog?
Yeah-no, maybe better
to consider other
career options.

The short story
is that I am a dog
of questionable heritage
and pedigree.

Yeah! Fuck you too buddy!
At least I am not
headlining up for some
damn dog show. I am...
or at least I was,
old enough to remember
when a dog was just a dog.
It ate, slept, shit,
chewed on just about
everything it could,
and pissed on the floor.
Go lick your ass!

Fucking poodles.
What is it with
these French dogs
anyways? Looks like
they are wearing
cotton balls,
a pom-pom on their head;
and then think
that they are the shit.

You can have it brother...

Fricking itch again.

So, it seems that I
am one of those
sort of dogs. You know--
everybody wants a cute
little puppy, and next
thing you know--
wow! it's a dog.
It doesn't do what
you want,
and it isn't
so cute anymore;
so you take
a little ride and open
up the back door.

Or maybe you move away,
and where you are moving
don't accept pets--
so you just forget
to pack the dog.

Whatever, I've heard worse.
There's this pit-bull terrier
down the way that gets most
of his training with
two-by four. That's kind
of the easy part, as you
really do not have to do
anything to take an ass-whupping.
His nights involve killing
one, or more, of his own kind,
just for one more day of what?
Ass-beatings and starvation.
He has no name. No shots,
or tags-- and everybody,
including the humans
that keep him,
are afraid of him.
What a life.

Me? The worst I got to
worry about is the dog catcher.
I am not even sure if I am
in a state that will keep
their animals alive, as long
as they are nothing like
ol' John Q. Pitbull.
It probably wouldn't be
all so bad for him,
to go down easy,
and all of the bullshit
just suddenly stops.

He's broken man, and
nobody really knows how
to fix that. You can't just
let him go, say be free
and let him be. And he is
way the fuck gone and beyond
the cute and cuddly stage.
Poor fucker looks like
an old chew toy, and nothing
really works anymore, aside
from the mean-ness...
which is really the only
thing keeping him alive.

Yeah, you really see it
when you are down here,
on all fours, trying to
figure out where your next
meal is coming from;
or the next person you
meet could be one that
wants to take you home,
give you a bath
and feed you for no other
reason than companionship.

OR, it could be someone
with a dog-glitch.
You could get kicked,
poisoned, shot, run over...

Whatever.

I remember that philosopher
(I think he was French too)
asking you some dumb ass
question about a tree falling
in the woods,
and nobody really
noticing.

The answer to that question
is to take a walk down
this street and look
for a pit-bull terrier
chained up in the back yard...

Try to go pet him asshole.

No one really wants
to notice the bad shit,
until it becomes a problem.
Then they want to kill
off all pit-bulls.

Yeah, that should probably fix it.


Uley