On Guard

I've these smarting dogs; for starters,
which won't roll o'er to off orders
like sittin' at the powers that be feet,
for I keep 'em on the trot e'en if beat.

Their daily walk of life
consist of fight not flight;

And foot it step by step as pawns,
thirstin' for fair play 'fore put-ons.
Though thrown by a fetch & its ghastly task,
they're not relenting nor at their last gasp.

In the teeth of blistering days
and/or the bite of nippy nights
their headway won't whittle away
by the hands of insipid sight.

My smarting dogs strain at the leash
to stand its ground 'gainst upturned noses;
whereto, sniffs at their ballsy feats.
They will not heal, to say the least,
till their doggedness come up roses
and thorns in its flesh is dead meat.