Naughty Nelly

By Ashwini Shajan

On the dresser, under the Morris chair,

behind the bean bag, chewing his hair.

Though shoes were at bay, and the nuts stored away,

father shooed Nelly, the millionth time today.

Six-months-old Nelly, arrived this June,

in Aunt Marie’s crate, her red fur strewn.

While brother, she and I, shook hands at ease,

Aunt Marie went red, at father’s displease.

T’was quiet at first, with only a whine or two,

then Nelly did her job, at anywhere but the loo.

Thrice a slippery fall, father kept mum,

until his bare feet bled on a broken bottle of rum.

For a week he limped and raised the good leg,

to kick naughty Nelly, who’d still manage a wreck.

‘Shoo!’, he’d yell, but o’er his table she’d scuttle,

and spill his tea out of the steaming kettle.

In spite and distraught, at Nelly, father threw,

the comb and the brush, then he’d buy them new.

So unlike father, we knew it a long time ago,

that Nelly fetched him her twig, for a mighty throw.

Then father, one day, went wild as a bull,

and quoted a price for poor Nelly in full.

For days, we threw our tantrums in vain,

but father’s despise was all Nelly gained.

Until a twilight, we had a visitor, oh gosh,

in father’s study, he found grandpa’s prized watch.

But with ears straightened, growling as he lurked,

out jumped Nelly, and gladly bit the jerk.

Father in his robe, ran down the stairs,

unto the cries of a man, and Nelly who didn’t care.

And so this is the story of how naughty Nelly stayed,

because father still says - Nelly saved the day!

By Ashwini Shajan