HE LEFT JESUS AT THE GATE

 

HE LEFT JESUS AT THE GATE    Maureen Clifford  © The #ScribblyBark Poet

 

 

I had a dog called Bruiser, an ugly Wolfhound thing.

One look from him would make you shake, but how that dog could sing.

If you played the piano, Bruiser would sing along,

and Onward Christian Soldiers seemed to be his favourite song.

 

It seems he found religion, one Sunday in the park.

Salvation Army band played hymns, Bruiser began to bark.

The Sally girls their timbrels played, you'd hear the cymbals ringing,

and everyone was quite amazed to hear old Bruiser singing.

 

The Salvo band marched up the hill, back to the Citadel.

Old Bruiser followed on behind for he'd go there as well.

He'd flop down in the aisle and listen to them pray

and as soon as singing started, Bruiser too would sing away.

 

He made an error on the day that he took on the Coppers,

 who only saw a hairy mutt with a mouthful of choppers.

The local Cop had merely bent to pick up his dropped phone,

Old Bruiser charged, he knew darn well that Cop wanted his bone.

 

But once it was explained to them the funny side they saw.

We breathed a sigh of great relief..Old Bruiser lives once more.

He really was a lovely mutt, just a big black boofhead.

But God that dog just hated pigs.  This trait in him was bred.

 

Yet when you had old Bruiser working in the shearing shed.

He'd cock his head and understand just every word you said.

He used to watch the shearers work, suspended in their slings,

and accompany the radio and make the rafters ring.

 

You might ask how he got his name.  It's really something trite.

He always slept just near the door, and every single night

someone would trip across him as they visited the loo

and in the morning they'd exclaim “Gawd I've got bruises too.”

 

The Christmas Concert every year was such a big event,

too many people for the hall, so the church hired a tent.

The children were all dressed up for the Nativity play,

 and all went well until old Bruiser stole Jesus away.

 

He crawled up to the cradle on his belly, inch by inch.

If spotted, he'd pretend to doze.  The doll he planned to pinch

from the crib where it was dressed in robes depicting baby Jesus.

He thought he'd get away with it because he couldn't see us.

 

He grabbed the doll, he shook it hard, its wrappings came asunder.

A mighty roar rose in the tent, the sound like rolling thunder.

Old Bruiser shot a startled glance.  The noise was not abating.

He took the doll and shot through, punishment anticipating.

 

But Bruiser now has gone alas.  I miss his ugly grin.

A ruffian.  Though well disposed. Great memories of him.

I know that he's in heaven with all his four legged mates.

All his sins have been forgiven.  He left Jesus at the gate.