Mutt The Immortal

I should be producing a product for Business 207;
Instead, I'm crafting an ode to you,
who I saw as I walked out of 7-Eleven
with a St. Pauli Girl in a paper bag dress,
who squirmed as your tail wagged,
and looked mournfully at the leash that chained you to a telephone
booth.

I rashly ignored the proverb of my father:
"If you lay with dogs, you get fleas."
To the cold wind I tossed the commandment:
"Thou shalt not pet strange dogs."
Gently, I approached you,
making myself short
to help you see
that my tail was wagging, too.

With 1.6 Pints of Red Hook in my soul,
I petted you with enthusiastic grace;
And you saw that I was friendly,
and helped me bathe my face.
I should have given you a sausage
But you see I'm a poet
and, unfortunately not a butcher.
Yet after the last 7-Eleven has passed from the earth,
folks will still read of "Mutt The Immortal."