When God had made the earth and sky,
the flowers and the trees,
He then made all the animals,
The fish, the birds and bees
And when at last He’d finished,
Not one was quite the same.
He said “I’ll walk this world of mine
And give each one a name”.
And so He travelled far and wide
And everywhere He went,
A little creature followed Him,
Until it’s strength was spent.
When all were named upon the earth
And in the sky and sea,
The little creature said “Dear Lord,
There’s not one left for me”.
Kindly the Father said to him
“I’ve left you till the end,
I’ve turned my own name back to front
And called you DOG, my friend.
I have started my post today with a poem I found.I think it is really charming.
I had sardines on toast for breakfast. I try to eat an oily fish every day, because it is supposed to be good for you. I don’t know about that but it is as good an excuse as any, to eat something yummy.
Finally, I found this Diary of a Cat.
Day 983 of my captivity
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe….
See ya, Pen