JAILHOUSE ROCK AT 127

When I arrived at my son Tim's in Stoughton, MA where I have been staying for the past six weeks (street address 127 Everett Circle), I discovered the family now has three small dogs. One is a purebred Boston Terrier (what else in this suburb of Boston?); the other two are mongrels. They are well behaved and not really underfoot except once in a while when with their pent-up energy they get dashing about play fighting with each other. Following is the poem I made up about them. I could have titled it "Three Dog Day," I guess.

(You said to put stuff on your blog, Elaine.......)

JAILHOUSE ROCK AT 127

There are three little dogs who live at 127.

When they get real frisky, why, it ain’t exactly heaven.

Their names are Zoey, Dixie, and Knox,

And they always have an eye out for a pair of socks,

Or a sandal on the floor—that is really hard to beat;

For chewing on a sandal is a very special treat.

                                    It is hard to believe the hustle and bustle,

As each one tries the others to outmuscle.

A struggle will ensue as they chomp and chew,

Until you think you’re at the Cincinnati zoo.

From the kitchen to the hall, upon the sofa if they dare,

Their antics are quite frantic when the three are on a tear.

When you hear them growl and occasionally howl,

You are wise without a doubt to give a warning shout,

“Hey, the three musketeers are out and about!”

At 127 with Zoey, Dixie and Knox,

It is certainly true that the jailhouse rocks!