This is a poem that I've been sitting on for a couple of weeks trying to figure out exactly how it would come together. I finally forced myself to sit down and put some words on the page.
It definitely needs some polishing, but this is the first stab, and I think it accomplished some of the irony that I was going for.
He walks regally
Every time he enters a room
Head held high
Nose to the sky
His rough brown hair
Sits tightly cropped
Atop his head and
Down his neck
Bulging eyes spaced
Wide on his face
Glassy and brown
Long for a master
Can someone tame
The wild beast within him?
His woman enters and barks a command
“SIT!”
The Dane dutifully obeys
For he is a Dane
And he is great.
Woof!