I was a loyal friend to them
\nI chased the rats away
\nand in a moments misery
\nthey just gave me a way
\nfor 2 or 3 plastic buckets
\nwas that only the worth
\nthey put on me my guardians
\nthis is planet earth<\/p>\n
the place now known as Thailand
\nand I’m caught up in what
\nis called the flourishing dog meat trade
\nsoon I am for the pot
\nthat blazing sun is torturous
\nfor we are so exposed
\nin these tiny little cages
\nwhere some of us have closed
\nour minds to abject worry
\nwe’re feeble and our fright
\nis getting the best of everything
\nfor things don’t now look bright<\/p>\n
the gangs are working in the streets
\npicking up the strays
\nmany have diseases
\nand this is how it plays
\nsome are injured hit by cars
\nothers have been abused
\nmany are limp and languid
\nwhere food has been refused<\/p>\n
the stretcher tongs
\nthat grab our necks
\nand throw us on the floor
\nall the weight tears at our muscles’
\nlike we never felt before
\nthe cries let out are awful
\nmind bending howls of pain
\nthe fear is omnipresent
\nand clearly its the bane
\nof all our lives at present
\nhowever short they be
\nthe whimpering is closing in
\nand the bleeding we can see<\/p>\n
how my heart does flutter
\nfor all of us now shake
\nits lamentable
\nits contemptible
\na conspicuous desire
\nto escape and run forever
\naway from this hell fire
\nbut of course there is no exit
\nroute
\nwe’re done for
\nits our time
\nbroken legs and battered heads
\nall in our pits of slime<\/p>\n
the crates are lifted
\nbadly
\nand slung about the place
\ntossed onto a truck
\nthe darkest of disgrace
\nhuddled, we are huddled
\ntogether hearts we hear
\neach is beating louder
\nfuelled by all this fear<\/p>\n
we’re snorting we are coughing
\nwe are yelping and we know
\nwhen we get, to the check point
\nsome of us will go
\nits there where we are sorted out
\nthe top breeds will be shipped
\nto Laos or to Vietnam
\nthe others will be ripped<\/p>\n
out of these rusty cages
\nand out onto a shed
\nwhere we will then
\nsoon be dispatched
\nwith some hard blows on the head<\/p>\n
they are not exactly careful
\nso our injuries
\nmight be
\nthey bloody knock our eye out
\nimagine that and see
\nwhat we have to go through
\nman’s best friend so loyal
\neven before we gasp our last breath
\nthere’s to be no foil<\/p>\n
#e are in the bucket
\nboil it the water’s almost boiled
\nand we can feel
\nthe scalding water we
\nare scraped then of what skin
\nis still in place
\nbut it does come free
\nby this time
\nwe are out of it
\nthough some seem paralysed
\nand can still see what’s happening
\nthat’s when they have realised<\/p>\n
that they’re being cut up on a block
\nand will be eaten soon
\nby local people who believe
\nblack one’s are in tune
\nwith nature and with added strength
\nand great vitality
\nthat is why they eat us
\nthat seems how things must be<\/p>\n
the A1 dogs go back into more cages
\nand they get shipped across the river to
\nVietnam into the special dog farm
\nwhere squalor reigns
\nwhere there’s a brutal view
\nwe’re hung up on large hooks
\nand left to stretch there
\nas all around the cries of death
\nwe see
\nblood and gore just coats the floor
\npestilence and noxious ill
\nforce fed with great metal tubes
\nits then more blood they spill<\/p>\n
our throats are torn a’sunder
\nas the foul foods pushed into
\nthey want to make us heavier
\nand so thats what they do
\nforce feed us strap and hold us down
\nand bash us if we cry
\nand of course we feel the pain again
\nand we know that soon we will die <\/p>\n
so of course we yell
\nwe are now in Hell
\nwhat else can we do
\ngive up hang low
\npretend to know
\nall that’s coming to
\nus the end is so in sight
\nits then that we are torn
\nout of our cages with those rotten grips
\nwishing we’d never been born<\/p>\n
I yelp just like the others
\nwhat else can we do
\nopen our bowels and let them go
\nthe smell is choking too
\nnoise is reaching fever pitch
\nto the detriment of all
\nunhallowed are our whereabouts
\nas pathogens now brew<\/p>\n
diarrhoea squirts its amoebic worst
\nas many a gut and stomach burst
\ndeprevation is all about
\nreally there are no laws to flout
\nno sense of right
\neverything’s wrong
\nin essence why did
\nall belong
\nto the canine tribe
\non this evil day
\nwhen a plastic bucket
\nmeant I had to pay<\/p>\n
and I paid with my life
\nwe all did, and
\nour scandalous end
\nwas apparently planned
\na scourge of the living
\nthe baneful cry
\nunshielded and lost
\nand now we lie<\/p>\n
in a soupy pot
\nor on a fire
\nwith a bunch of herbs
\non a charcoal pyre
\na hostile crowd
\na bleak cold wind
\nand the surplus bits
\nwere ruddy well binned<\/p>\n
200 dogs had met their end
\nall of them were man’s best friend
\nthat’s the torment that we felt
\nwhen the rotten hands were dealt
\nwhen we suffered all that pain
\nwhen we died and were born again
\nsucked up into adversity
\nthe inglorious prosperity<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I was a loyal friend to them I chased the rats away and in a moments misery they just gave me a way for 2 or 3 plastic buckets was that only the worth they put on me my guardians … Continue reading