This afternoon after she had posted her war meditation, Favorite Daughter remembered a very funny (because it's so realistic!) Barbara Hamby poem, "St. Barbara of the Dog Bite" and read it out loud to me, doing all the accents and voices in a pitched chortle.
You won't be able to hear it as I did, too bad for you! -- but it's from Hamby's Delirium collection if you can find yourself a copy, and here's a taste:

. . .Twisty the apricot toy
poodle of the hotel concierge
fastens her tiny satanic teeth to my ankle. I shake her off,
and she skids across the polished floor of the lobby
and thumps her little cranium on the wall.
"Pauvre Twisty, le pauvre petit," everyone whimpers
while I drag my leg behind me to the elevator.
Then in Arles a mutt tries to jump from a moving car
to savage me. . .
I admit I'm superstitious but I think this bears closer
scrutiny. . .