I Hate Dogs

I hate dogs. They bark. They scratch. They stink.
They maul the tender little kittens, too.
And, more especially when they’re young, they think
The world’s their fuzzy ball to nip and chew.

I can admire exuberance, in its place;
A dog who has none is a fat old bore;
But I dislike its wet tongue on my face
And when it wrecks my nylons I get sore.

I’ve known good conversations go to pot
On doggy stories; and I’ve sat and hated
And squirmed with boredom — who, indeed has not? —
When tales of canine brilliance were related.

So I hate dogs. I know, without contrition,
How anti-social is this frank admission.