It’s autumn and the nights are getting cooler.
Hogs are rare as they’d keep away.
In this house we have a hog catcher,
who despite the pricks and thorns
goes crazy every time the scent of hog comes near.
It seems like the more he got pricked,
the more excited he becomes.
At the close of St Patrick’s night,
New Zealand time,
this dog by the name of Tob
who visited the Vet
this afternoon for his annual jab,
was supposed to relax
and have a good night’s sleep.
Instead, it’s three hours since
he caught that Hog.
Little drops of blood
which may remain my carpet stain.
Let’s pray that what’s inside the prickly ball
though hurt will not die.
Indeed, no one is passing,
not Tob, not Hog.
Tob’s still on the go,
at my back garden
barking every now and then.
The neighbours will sure make noise if this carries on.
Most will probably frowned at me
for the lack of disciple
in raising such a wild uncontrollable boy.
May God bless that no one is going to die tonight
for I know, my Tob though playful and not so nice,
a Hog catcher he may be
but not a Hog eater and never will be.