To A Chihuahua

You claim to be a dog? Oh, please.
You’re pointless as a Pekinese.
Your bark is but the high-pitched squeak
that might come from a robin’s beak.

Your wee small body’s thin and frail
and weighs less than a real dog’s tail.
Your tiny teeth won’t bruise a mouse,
so how would you protect a house?
No Sunday paper could you fetch
nor any flying Frisbee catch,
and if perchance a cat you chase
you’ll disappear without a trace.

No canine do you seem to me —

Did He who made the Lab make thee?

The Bard of Sherman Avenue