I had a dog called Sparky and he lived in constant pain.
When he was born, a lightning strike microwaved his brain.
You'd think he'd live in mortal fear if storm clouds were predicted,
But he'd been struck nine times since birth and now he was addicted.

Sparky was a weirdo and he'd lost near all his senses
From cocking up his back leg on Dad's electric fences.
The current seemed to soothe him. Me mum said he was sick -
She caught him chewing batteries just to get a fix.

And though me parents both proclaimed, "He's better off dead!"
I loved him like me brother and kept him by me bed.
The fireflies hung round him and at night you'd hear him humming.
His eyes became me reading lamps and stopped mosquitoes coming.

But if I had to nominate his greatest claim to fame,
It'd have to be the crash we had when cyclone season came.
The floods were causing havoc - the Condamine had peaked,
And the cows were doing backstroke past the pub at Sandy Creek.

That night the rising waters deceived me in the rain.
I hit this bridge at eighty and the truck just aquaplaned.
I heard old Sparky yelping as I slammed against the dash.
We sliced this lightpole clean in two, and flipped it in a flash.

I'd like to say that all me troubles ended then and there,
But this live electric cable dropped down swinging through the air.
So Sparky, bleeding head to toe -, now you've gotta praise the pup -
Lunged between the wire and me and bravely snapped it up!

Now, I've seen him kill a brown snake in the blinking of an eye,
But he'd never met a serpent with the might of this reply.
His canine teeth exploded! His body threw these arcs!
He lit up like a Christmas tree and his butt was shooting sparks.

And looking back in retrospect I'd nearly have to reckon
He was drunk on electricity and loving every second.
His vice-like jaws would not give in, the cable kicked and sailed
Until the towns around blacked out and the power station failed.

Then Sparky and the cable came careering to the ground
Where he mauled it to submission like a rabid ruthless hound.
Then he dragged it off, still snarling, with this evil toothless grin...
Dug a hole a metre deep and dropped his victim in!

And when 1 ran to thank him, he was much too hot to touch,
And I figured that perhaps his working days were gone as such.
The Vet said we should put him down, but we'd seen worse before...
(We used to bathe Pop's ulcerated legs when we were four.)

So now we've put him out to stud. He's best of all our sires.
The bitches think he's hot to trot and his pups are all live wires.
He's only got one job to do and I'll show that to you later...
When I go and plug old Sparky in...he's now our generator!