From T.S. Eliot’s “Macavity.”
Master criminals of the world, beware
of blood on the seat, and prints on the stair.
There’s no malefaction you can circumvent:
Lockproof is on the scene, and onto your scent!
He’s known to solve the most serpentine riddle
as swiftly as he chews-up kibble.
And while coppers find his mien uncouth
(his drool-stains, attributed to youth),
they have no doubt he’ll hound the truth.
To a man, they concede, there’s but one Lockproof.
Lockproof is a Bluetick Coon; he sports a spotted cloak.
His abiding smile may look dopey, but his methods are no joke.
When deep in thought, he’ll lift his paw
and gently stroke his lantern-jaw
or raise it further–how mysterious–
reaching up toward his guide-dog, Sirius.
Lockpoof’s nose is cold and wet
and moves faster than a turbojet
when sniffing-out the thug’s bouquet;
the men in badges know: they must give way (yes, even the CIA).
On the rare occasion, when he requests their help,
Lockproof’s eyes will droop and he’ll let out a yelp.
But no! Lockproof’s onto the delicate sound.
Ear to the sky, ear to the ground.
The first, tuned to the faintest rustle,
the other, to contractions of a muscle.
And on they hustle, criminals, both slender and obese.
Lockproof will always pick them up (shhh…better than police.
Perhaps it’s just his instinct to push three times as hard
as those obsequious laggards employed by Scotland Yard).
And when the baddies are out of breath, and know there’s no escape,
they’ll turn and see a doggie blur, and the spotted cape.
Lockproof, being quite demure, won’t take credit for their apprehension,
but he hopes that the publicity will aide in crime prevention.
State officials thank him lavishly, in a courtly tone.
They offer gold and silver, but Lockproof opts for bone.
Master criminals of the world, beware
of blood on the seat, and prints on the stair.
There’s no malefaction you can circumvent:
Lockproof is on the scene, and onto your scent!
