There's a Ridgeback in my bed
dreams of kibble fill his head
When I wake I'll hug him tight
I'll look into his eyes so bright
They are clear with amber glow
His coat is clean he's bred for show
I've never heard his stomach moan
for want of food or yummy bone
But wait there is another boy
What kind of life did he enjoy?
His coat is dull His eyes are dead
No loving hand to stroke his head
Will he make it through the night?
Was this deed an act of spite?
His teeth are broke What does *he* dream?
To drink from straws or lick ice cream?
I, for one, will not sit by
to hear about this Ridgeback die
I can't do much but this I'll do
I'm sending this poem out to you
in hopes that you will take the time
to send a "fifty" or a dime
Forgo your puppies latest toy
and think about this starving boy
Author, Barbara McClarty
copyright © 1997. reprinted with permission.