There was a time, there really was, when I was young and tender;
When show dog meant a Disney Star, and BITCH was not a gender,
I went to bed at half past ten; I went to Church on Sunday;
On Saturday I baked the beans, and did the wash on Monday.
But when I got a Certain Pup, and an erstwhile friend said, “SHOW,”
And so I did and so I do, OH! What I didn’t know.

I used to dress with flair and style, that was the life, don’t knock it.
But now each dress from bed to ball must have a good bait pocket.
I used to have a certain air, I wallowed in perfume,
I used to smell of Nuit D’Amour, now I smell like Mr. Groom.
My furniture was haute d’cour, my pets a tank of guppies.
Now I’ve furniture that is unstuffed, and well-adjusted puppies.
Once I spoke in pristine prose in dulcet tones and frail,
But now I’m using language that would turn a sailor pale.

I was taught to be well-groomed no matter where I went.
Now all the grooming that I do is in the Handler’s tent.
I used to long for furs and jewels and a figure classed as super,
Now the thing I yearn for most is a nice new Pooper-Scooper.
I adored a man who murmured verse through intimate little dinners,
But now the words I thrill to hear are just three, “Best of Winners”.

I rise at dawn and pack the van, the road ahead’s a long one.
The one I routed on the map’s invariably the wrong one.
I really love this doggy life, I wouldn’t care to change it.
But when I get that BEST IN SHOW I plan to rearrange it;
And when my time on earth is done I’ll go without much nudging
Just give me three weeks closing date and let me know who’s judging.