The Life of a Racing Dog

One ear accidentally cropped
By another racer's pointed teeth

A kink in your tail from beating the sides
Of a kennel,
Too small even for your sixty-pound frame

Thighs bald from rough hands
Pushing you into that dark box,
Too tight for you to wiggle away

Doors numbered one through eight swing up,
Release the prisoners,
Forcing them to run

Prisoner number 50892-69E,
A series of numbers,
Tattooed on the interior of your ears

Brindle fur patterned like a tiger,
Dainty paws propelling your body forwards,
Upwards of thirty miles per hour

The Buggati of the dog world,
Worshipped by ancient Egyptians,
Abused by modern man

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