J. R. and I’d kick dry red dirt,
Down ole Dad Burnet’s farm road.
Our pup Bowser, he’d fuss and he’d fret.
Then, at Dad’s place, his blood’d turn cold.
Dad’s coon dog, Champ, was off in a dash,
Gnashin’ our pup’s heels, nippin’ his knees,
Makin’ sure we all saw his teeth flash.
When Bowser would flee, worse for the clash,
Champ’d strut back, all proud, all pleased.
Dad’d almost fall right off his porch,
Crowin’ and laughin’ and spittin’ juice.
He’d whistle and throw Champ a treat,
As we slinked off to avoid his abuse.
A spell passed, we licked our wounds,
‘Til it was time to try once more.
Bowser was grown, no longer a pup;
He seemed keen to even the score.
This time, ‘twas Bowser off in a dash,
Gnashin’ Champ’s heels, nippin’ his knees.
It was a spectacular thrash,
And everyone knew after that clash,
Bowser was now the big cheese.
As you’d expect, Dad threw a fit,
His dog just couldn’t make amends.
But those old foes, Bowser and Champ,
Turned out the very best of friends.
J. W. Ellis
J. W. Ellis lives in Hong Kong, and spends his time creating artworks and writing essays and poetry. He is most interested in exploring the mysteries and delights of nature.