We are the sum of our experiences.

Bay at the moon, howl at the shadows,
you’re nothing more than a junkyard dawg.
You were the runt discarded at birth,
found in garbage . . . blood matted with earth.
Snappy, you bite at the slightest move.
Don’t know what you are trying to prove.

A mixture, a mutt, with a huge butt,
you’re nothing more than a junkyard dawg.
You’re so unhappy your jaws hang down;
you react in fury at each sound.
A thick, heavy chain holds you at bay.
Should I release you? What would folks say?

Huddled in the shadows--scared to move,
you’re nothing more than a junkyard dawg.
Would you devour one who set you free?
Life can be grand without misery.
Free, you leap and push me to the ground.
One shot rang out then we both are down.

You never rose above . . . junkyard dawg!