he has a chocolate collar
but no leash
he has a rather thick skin
& short legs
he never goes walkies, he sleeps where he eats
he has no regard for anything that is tiring
the sun laughs at him from it's throat
he grows rapidly with every pound
my inner swinehound
in front of every good intention he puts an
iron guard
he only wags his tail
for the weak willed
he snarls, barks & bites, protects his territory
his place on the sofa, the chips & the beer
& he's never been at a loss for words
he is at any rate fit as a fiddle
don't give him hard work, perspiration & such rubbish