He’ll Heal Her Heel
Martha-Marie changed her gait
when she fell and broke the gate.
This ain’t no delightful tale
of cute Fi-Fi’s little tail.
The damn dog refused to shoo–
she wobbled and broke her shoe.
The furball then gave a pause,
then ran off on all four paws.
The dog, she wanted to find,
for its owner would be fined.
In the ambulance, she rode,
down the long and curvy road.
At the x-ray, the Doc stares,
then announced, “Well, no more stairs.”
The stupid dog did not brake,
therefore, caused the nasty break.
A thick, purple cast she wore,
lookin’ like she’d been through war.
Her head and arms were fine, but
also, aching was her butt.
No matter how old she’d grown,
like a kid, she moaned and moaned.
The next day came the dark bruise,
she decided—drink some brews!
Then she consumed some red wine,
which halted her need to whine.
Two, four, then eight weeks pass by–
oh, to bid the cast, “Goodbye!”
Went back to re-check the heel–
Doctor said, “Yup, it did heal.”
