Oh, migod!
When a moose sics Rover,
When a moose sics Rover, yeah,
When a moose sics Rover,
Something ain't right,
Something ain't right,
Something ain't right, no.

When a moose sics Rover,
And hooves my bitch, Rover,
And chews my bitch, Rover,
Something ain't right,
Dog should start fight,
Something ain't right.

When a moose sics and gores man's best friend,
Chance his ire's a sickly trend.
Moose sick? That could well portend
My Bichon's end.
My bitch's end
I itch to've bred.

Scrammed in my subcompact to a veterinarian,*
Said, "This is bestial. . .a huge hooved vegetarian*
Got frenzied, chewed her hide!"

Her face starts to foam, her jaw drops,
She curls back her maw and shows chops,
The fiend digs in,
Her canine's drive
Straight in my knee,
Snout dives.

She bores and sinks
Into me, big teeth.
They chomp, I tear,
They crunch, I tear
And scream like that buggered guy. . .

Played by Beatty.
Come off has my arm;
From string like wire it's hangin' on down.
She's champin' down, sanguine flow crustin' brown.
I hear my heart in my head pound.
Teeth like shears cause me alarm.
Flesh is soft; it's fresh, not seared,
Bum's filleted, bummed, I say:

"What has she done to my girth?
What has she done to my bared midriff?"
Rabidly sundered and ripped it and bit it.
Sucks out my life; bites my side like a prawn.
The tide's in like menses when rag's not found.
I fear cherry red bled abounds--
Then an ear-splitting round sounds:
I hurl Tourette's-esque epithets,
I'd give the world for tourniquets, now!

Now?

NOW!!

"Person Bites Same!"
Headlines explain.
"Strange Lust!"
"Desgust!"**
"Ate Mutt!"

[discordant duet of dog squealing and doc feeding]

Next time a moose sics Rover,
That is, my new bitch, Rover.
Next time a moose sics Rover,
I've seen the light,
I'll get it right,
Next vet won't bite.
I won't use a vet with spectral trend:
Rabid ire and sickly yen
To sic on to flesh and then. . .
Have fill of men.
Filet of men
When full of friend.


*four syllables
**combination of "disgust" and "degust": to savor