OK, I will let the dog out of the bag:
He was old. Now he’s young. That’s fictitious you say?
Well, it’s true! He had gone to a junkyard to wag
his tale and to play and to bow down and pray.
The caninicle ball is where he was reborn.
He told Ancient Dognanimous every misdeed
he’d committed: disclosed all the clothes he had torn,
not coming when called, all the cats he had treed,
all those times he had rolled on dead toads and dead fish;
but also the joy he had felt when behaving—
like getting to lick all the sauce from the dish
his master had eaten from, sauce he’d been craving.
So, yes, he’s been saved. He is now a new dog!
As spry as a pup, he is often play-bowing,
does tricks, fetches sticks, and can leap like a frog.
The uncanny thing, though, is he’s often meowing.