TREED

                    Our Gyp’s just treed a coon in our back yard,
                    Who has retreated to its notched hangout,
                    Refusing it mammalian regard
                    But spared, at least, from a contentious bout.
                    It’s simply instinct, but a dangerous move
                    To make an enemy of such a one
                    Who with its razor teeth and claws would prove
                    An adversary that it’s best to shun,
                         I’m happy that this conflict’s been cut short;
                         This curtal sonnet’s best for its report.

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