It looks like the dogs won’t be quiet.
They’re causing a terrible riot.
They have their own plan
For disturbing this man
Who’s attempting to balance his diet.
Congratulations to Neal Levin of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan! For his limerick, Neal wins $25 and our gratitude for his witty and entertaining poem describing Begging for Turkey, J.C. Leyendecker’s cover from December 2, 1933.
If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our next issue of The Saturday Evening Post, submit your limerick through our online entry form.
Our readers sent us a lot of great, funny limericks. Here are some more of our favorites, in no particular order:
To the dining hall Patterson slogs,
As the ambushers nip at his clogs.
He lowers the platter
And says of the matter,
“Thanksgiving can go to the dogs.”
—Jeff Foster, San Francisco, California
The plate can go sailing and shatter,
Dogs can grab all the goodies and scatter,
But it’s Thanksgiving time,
And that is why I’m
Giving thanks it’s not me on the platter.
—Peggy Rodebaugh, Arlington, Texas
The gargantuan turkey was trussed.
At the hounds, he was angry and fussed.
Since the butler turned blue,
His attorney will sue,
For his client was bit and concussed.
—Ryan Tilley, Altamonte Springs, Florida
Our butler avoids danger zones.
Though his life has been fraught with unknowns.
But will he be able
To get to the table
With more than a plateful of bones?
—Robert Bateman, New Carlisle, Ohio
Walking barefoot on coals? That’s a breeze.
Scaling Everest? Really? Oh, please.
Just try serving feasts
With ravenous beasts
Begging treats while they nip at your knees.
—Rebekah Hoeft, Redford, Michigan
Those hounds are filled with such moxie,
They thought, “Why chase some poor, little foxy?
When here is a meal
That’s quite easy to steal.”
They know when opportunity knocks, see?
—Brenda Thompson, Bristol, Pennsylvania
He thought he was set for this feast
And a raise in his paycheck at least.
But because of three friends
His fantasy ends
And a migraine is all that increased.
—Chet Cutshall, Willowick, Ohio
Once the servant walks out of that door,
We should hound him and jump him galore.
If we make his tray fall,
Then it’s our Butterball,
Since those humans won’t eat off the floor.
—Jennifer Klein, Jericho, New York
Some worry of holiday pounds;
Others, family making their rounds.
Neither cause me to fret.
I’ve a more certain bet:
One is far more concerned with the hounds!
—Will Davis, Tuscaloosa, Alabama