Bone Cellar
A yellow house, the height almost of man,
Before the carnage stood, all witnessing
Along with its creator, owner, liege,
The host of its backyard, and of the siege,
And one more spectator from o’er the wall
Made large his eyes and paled as white as pall
To spy the damage done by wanton beast;
A frenzy of hellation, force unleashed
As earth became upturned at beastly rate
To undermine the house and risk its state.
And why? Wherefore this horse, this Marmaduke
Should offer pious soil such rebuke?
The master spake, addressing friend and God,
Describing why the brute should turn the clod:
“He asked for a bone cellar, I told him no.”
Thus to the planet: Need it? Make it so.
Man builds these houses o’er the dirt he’s worked
But, ne’er enough, the beast pulls back in jerks
What luxury it wants with no regard
For neighb’ring needs, for safety, for the yard.
What future holds this progress, tainted stones?
A pit beneath the surface for our bones.
Putting aside how Marmaduke managed to ask his master specifically for a “bone cellar,” we have to wonder why he would ask. Surely no paid contractor would execute it to his high standards. Plus, he himself is a digging machine.
Are doghouses a thing outside of comics and cartoons? Were they a thing in a bygone era? I’ve met a lot of dogs in my time, some of them I am lucky enough to call my friends, and none of them have had a doghouse. Is it meant to be a primary residence? Or just a big house-shaped toy in the yard? Like a toilet paper tube for a big, big hamster.
Anyway, toil as we might, our bones are destined to feed the earth some day. Have a good week!
This is Phil
Image from Marmaduke by Brad Anderson