Tails

LOOSE ENDS.
On the Isle of Dogs when fashion was king,
To take off one's tail was the fashionable thing.
Like coats, they were left on a peg in the hall,
And escutcheons were worn with no tails at all.

On the village green a feast had been planned,
Oh, the invitations were frightfully grand,
We'd like you to come at a quarter past three,
And kindly remember, to R.S.V.P.

When the day came, the guests were excited,
Bar one little dog who'd not been invited.
For Chump wasn't pedigree, he was cross bred,
A mongrel with clever ideas in his head.

He waited, and then in the middle of tea,
That cerebral dog hollered, `What about me?'
`I'll give them a fright they won't ever forget.
I'll teach them a lesson, I'm not finished yet.'

He climbed a tree on the edge of the wood
And he started to shout, as loud as he could.
`Fire, fire, there's a fire, fetch the fire brigade,
Leave the party at once!'...the guests so afraid

Scuttling and rushing to find the right tail
Grabbed any-old-end that was left on a nail;
With dramatic affright ran out of the tent,
Their tails and escutcheons all incongruent.

There wasn't a blaze; no flames and no smoke,
It seemed it was someone's idea of a joke.
Young Chump was delighted he chortled and laughed,
He said, `That'll teach ya, you don't 'arf look daft!'

For each little dog was trying to find
His own wagging tail on another's behind.
And still when they meet they all check without fail,
Sniff, sniff; `Excuse me, are you wearing my tail?'