The dog was my mother's; she'd bought it on sale
He slobbered on all while wagging his tail.
Everyone thought it was dumb except Mom:
Delighting in him, she said "This dog's the bomb!"
One afternoon, we were down in the study
Gulping down bourbon, my father turned ruddy.
All that I had was some pink lemonade
That my dear little sister, Matilda, had made.
Ernest, the coward, my brother by marriage,
Made the dog stay outdoors; he'd often disparage
Owners who'd let their pets roam through the house
To chew on the carpet and drool on the couch.
Hermione (Mom) disagreed with the lout,
Expressing the view that a dog who stayed out
Roaming the fields and highways and more
Surely would come to an end filled with gore.
Then we heard a whining-- perhaps doggish crying.
Opening the door, we saw Rover was dying.
Evidence showed on Mom's fungi he fed
So he ate mother's toadstools; no wonder he's dead.