*Lady Macbeth*
02-09-2006, 09:24 AM
I was four when Mum and Daddy brought Phoebe home,
She was placed on the floor in a box with scruffy edges
because she'd struggled [and was still struggling] to escape.
Daddy took her out of the box; and her high pitched barks
dropped into harmony with my shrieks of terror
as she rushed towards me across the slippery tiles.
The bottoms of Phoebe's paws were still baby pink and soft,
Her fur felt bouncy under my skin when I tentatively touched her.
Her liquid brown eyes stared at Daddy and me as we bathed her.
He agreed to let her sleep on a stained cushion in my room,
I didn't sleep all night; she howled sadly to keep me company.
The next night, she jumped on the bed and curled up on my tummy,
When I woke up, Mum was hitting her with 'The Arab Times',
telling her she was dirty, and should never climb on furniture again.
After that, I used to let her clamber up as soon as the light's went out.
We dog-proofed the house as one would with a toddler at home;
But she wanted to sink her teeth into human skin, and human clothes.
Although she never actually drew blood, I still have the scars.
I remember when I tried to take Phoebe's ball to play fetch with her,
She ran away, and instituted the most wonderfully interactive game:
'Catch the one with the ball'
I nearly broke a bone when I got home from school one day,
She jumped onto her hind legs and placed her paws on my shoulders.
She tried to lick my face; and her breath smelled of dead meat;
When I told Daddy, he built her big, cold dog house in the garden.
She used to lick my hand to wake me up and beg for breakfast,
Two years ago, I told my dad to start feeding her on weekends.
He took over her care without me asking him to.
I can vaguely recall both the times she got herself pregnant-
It was on some her late night escapades out on the streets.
She came to me a few hours before the delivery, moaning,
And Daddy and I took her outside, where her muscular body secreted
eight rodent-like creatures. She ate everything except her babies.
I get goose bumps whenever I hear the screech of car tires now.
I remember seeing her on the vet's table- Mum and Daddy's mumbles
as they talked to Dr Adam. He said there was a chance to save her;
but she'd be in pain for the rest of her life; she'd have no leg.
I look at her for ten minutes, nod to Daddy, and leave.
As ever, critique/comments are humbly requested, and greatly appreciated.
She was placed on the floor in a box with scruffy edges
because she'd struggled [and was still struggling] to escape.
Daddy took her out of the box; and her high pitched barks
dropped into harmony with my shrieks of terror
as she rushed towards me across the slippery tiles.
The bottoms of Phoebe's paws were still baby pink and soft,
Her fur felt bouncy under my skin when I tentatively touched her.
Her liquid brown eyes stared at Daddy and me as we bathed her.
He agreed to let her sleep on a stained cushion in my room,
I didn't sleep all night; she howled sadly to keep me company.
The next night, she jumped on the bed and curled up on my tummy,
When I woke up, Mum was hitting her with 'The Arab Times',
telling her she was dirty, and should never climb on furniture again.
After that, I used to let her clamber up as soon as the light's went out.
We dog-proofed the house as one would with a toddler at home;
But she wanted to sink her teeth into human skin, and human clothes.
Although she never actually drew blood, I still have the scars.
I remember when I tried to take Phoebe's ball to play fetch with her,
She ran away, and instituted the most wonderfully interactive game:
'Catch the one with the ball'
I nearly broke a bone when I got home from school one day,
She jumped onto her hind legs and placed her paws on my shoulders.
She tried to lick my face; and her breath smelled of dead meat;
When I told Daddy, he built her big, cold dog house in the garden.
She used to lick my hand to wake me up and beg for breakfast,
Two years ago, I told my dad to start feeding her on weekends.
He took over her care without me asking him to.
I can vaguely recall both the times she got herself pregnant-
It was on some her late night escapades out on the streets.
She came to me a few hours before the delivery, moaning,
And Daddy and I took her outside, where her muscular body secreted
eight rodent-like creatures. She ate everything except her babies.
I get goose bumps whenever I hear the screech of car tires now.
I remember seeing her on the vet's table- Mum and Daddy's mumbles
as they talked to Dr Adam. He said there was a chance to save her;
but she'd be in pain for the rest of her life; she'd have no leg.
I look at her for ten minutes, nod to Daddy, and leave.
As ever, critique/comments are humbly requested, and greatly appreciated.