Pet Poetry and Prose, submitted by Me. One of the many things that perturbs me is pet owners who insist on mourning their fallen friends in the lamest ways possible. I've lost pet snakes, birds, lizards, and even a dog, and you know how I coped? By not doing stupid things I'd regret like writing poetry or building a lame online memorial. This is the usual fluffy and awkward site dedicated to dead animals, complete with sappy poetry, cheap angel imagery, and horrible midi music. Your heart will be tenderized with heavenly poems such as this one:
I wonder if Christ had a little black dog,
All curly and wooly like mine,
With two silky ears, and nose round and wet,
Two eyes brown and tender that shine?
I don't think the Bible made any mention of a little black dog, unless it was some kind of magic dog that also had the head of a lion, a goat, and a wombat along with wings made of golden feathers and feet made out of fiery rods that were actually great mountains. I think God had one of those to fetch his daily newspaper and scare the shit out of people. I will say that based on the description of this lady's little black dog, it was probably pretty healthy up until it died. Most healthy dogs do indeed have two ears, a nose, as well as two eyes. Normal dogs certainly don't have wings! That's for sure.
Upon your back are traces I see
where your angelic wings used to be
For a year ago on this very day,
You were born and your little wings were clipped away.
It's a damn shame they clipped the poor dog's wings. I'm pretty sure that was some kind of astonishing evolutionary achievement, and they ruined it. If you've got a few hours to kill and a big heart, read these touching memorials and pray to Allah that no more dogs die so that we don't have to read any new dead pet poems.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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