snout raised upwards, staring
blankly at strokes on a canvas
color exists not in these eyes

"it's the masterpiece of the century"
yells the painter from across the room
the paint he flung wildly splattering against

the painstaking work which took him
weeks and months to complete,
which had required diligent, unadulterated

passion, covered now in a sheen of blood
red, dripping down, down, down,
the face of his most mangled lover

barks emanate throughout the studio,
starting with a single sharp note piercing
the air, then ascending to a crescendo

as the mutt leapt forward,
tearing it apart with his claws,
decimating the work with its cloth-ridden teeth