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My name is Brute; this house is mine, my owner Miss Sally
I write this prose with a heavy heart as I lay in quandary
I lift my brows and look about, expecting a gesture kind
I think I haven’t been well of late and I am turning blind

Miss Sally wakes up late for work and has no time for me
I remember my good old days, it seems remote reality
I was the star once, the only one, in my entire neighborhood
I was handsome then and I still am, let this be understood

I was my owner’s pride, for her delight, the neighbors all bemused
But times have changed, has my luck too? I wonder still confused
I stare at the ceiling all day long, with no one around to play
“I’m still the master of my domain”, I tell myself to hide my sorry display

One day Miss Sally brought home a boy, of tender age of six
I found a friend in him at first but now I am in a fix
He kicks around my manly tail and wakes me at night so late
Miss Sally doesn’t seem to care; this boy is a devil incarnate

I howl my grief alone, but there’s no one around to hear
My sorry tale, immense despair, the torture that I bear
He painted me once like a Red Indian and shot air guns at me
My bottom aches, my toe nail hurts “Oh Lord, have mercy on me!”

He made me roll over my belly and made me drink old wine
He painted my nails, galloped on me and threw me in turpentine
If this continues for another day long, I will live no more
I’d rather leave this place and start begging door-to-door

Finally one day, Miss Sally brought home news so good that made me smile
These are times when I thank the Lord for his mercy once a while
Miss Sally packed the boy’s suitcase and took him to the car
She called my name, smiled to me ‘You’re his friend from now’ – she said handing him a cookie jar!!