A Mordant Night

A much queerer night than I’d thought, if a 
dog ‘harrumphs’ ceaselessly, it’s bought a 
defective moon or something’s got its goat. 

Tho’ solo commentary isn’t gauged odd, we 
noted no choral neighbourhood riposte and 
that supposed something weird afloat. 

So Podge (yep, that’s his name) gruffs and 
snorts out in the dead of night - not straying 
too far, but vociferously policing his domain 

Strangely next door’s dogs refrained saying 
a thing; usually it is they who’ll call the tune 
while Podge regales loudly back at them 

But last night’s aria was alone, at least until 
faintly heard strains of the eerie dingo wails 
sorrowed this moonless night 

Remembered it was baiting week; tragedy 
assured for any who eat those lures - pain 
and agony preceding excruciating death 

Hard to believe our canine audience knew 
how to abstain from applause; seemed to 
me they always respond indiscriminately 

To any dog noise, just as if its to hear their 
own bark, and when cautioned to hold their 
yap are spurred to ‘arf’ even louder. 

But with a sense of trepidation this canine 
tribe knew - demurred from raging aloud in 
a mordant night of their cousin’s demise 

© 3 April 2014, I. D. Carswell