“Did you eat Ron’s shoe?”
I sternly ask my dog, Brett.
I know it wasn’t old Georgie
(he’s too, well, old).
And it couldn’t have been little Angel
(she’s too, well, angelic).
That leaves the final suspect
(he’s a newcomer to the scene).
Brett’s had me pulling my hair out for weeks now
With his constant bouts of trouble
So when I ask who ate Ron’s shoe,
“Woof,” is all Brett can confess, “Woof woof.”