Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

Old Mother Hubbard’s fridge
Must look an awful lot like mine,
It seemed a little empty
When the hour came to dine.

I had a fair old rummage
But the only thing I found
Were theatrical sausages…
A full, unopened pound.

I’m not a sausage eater
As a general rule you see,
They’ve sat in there a week or so
With not a thought from me…

I’d wondered why the small dog
Hung around the kitchen door…
She’d had one pound of sausages
And had her eye on more…

We’d bought them for a photo shoot,
She’d eaten one long string…
I’d stuffed the other out of sight…
Forgot about the thing.

The small dog, sat there hopefully,
With ‘starving artist’ look…
Well, as I didn’t fancy them,
I’d bung them in to cook.

The small dog’s eyes grew rounder
And I’m sure that was a grin…
And fairly…