What pokes Old Blue's coat and makes it shorn?
Mange.
What makes him curse the day he was born?
Mange.
He's got that hind leg a-thumpin',
Scratchin' from his head down to his can.
He's got no time for humpin';
I gotta take him to see the vet man.

With sores he's fraught; paws give 'em a pick.
Mange.
Adding to damage wrought is a tick.
Mange.

He looks awfully cankery--
A louse could not make him act more deranged.

This malady is drivin' him
Mad, so I should be drivin' him
To a priest, who'd exorcise him.
Mange.

We used to take walks and go for miles.
Mange.
He'd drop 'em, and I'd pick up the piles.
Mange.
He'd see cats and go at 'em,
But they are screechy beasts he'd never reach.
They'd seek a tree. . .laugh at 'im,
Meanwhile, a squirrel pitched at 'im at peach.

He used to obey when I said, "Sit."
Mange.
Only occasionally he bit.
Mange.
But now his is skin in cankered
And the way that he stares at me is strange.

The vet checks him out rapidly
And says, "He's acting rabidly.
Like Old Yeller. . .not a case of
Mange."