Taking my pet for a walk

When I take my pet for a walk,
people often stare and gawp,
they cross the road, run or hide,
peek through a hedge, eyelids wide.

His swishing tail brings an audience,
his teeth shine sharp and obvious,
his legs are short, he can’t run fast,
and mostly he just waddles past.

Jonathan Snap, we call him Jon,
loves — sunbathing on the warm lawn,
lunch with children, munching chocolate,
rare meat, rhubarb, or citrus fruit.

The problem is the cat next door
is missing, like the dog before;
chicken coops busted, rabbits gone,
neighbours all blaming poor old Jon.

He’s not welcome in pool or park,
people scream like I’ve brought a shark,
The one place he’s always allowed
is the zoo, where he draws a crowd.

When Jon opens that toothy grin
I wave a treat over his chin,
his jawline glints, the greedy guts,
and scrunches jammy, iced donuts.