I asked the students in my Renaissance Literature class to write sonnets in either the Petrarchan or English (Shakespearean) form in order to get an idea of the strictness of the form (meter, rhyme, etc). They did a fabulous job. I said I would write one, too, and thought I would post it here. It's nowhere near as good as Grendel's efforts, but nonetheless contains a kernel of how I feel about this little four-footed paradox.
Shall I compare my Grendel to a normal hound?
He has a tail, a snout, four paws, and barks,
Aside from these no likeness can be found
To other denizens of canine parks.
His misanthropic nature is quite clear:
He hates all humans equally as strong,
And little children run away in fear
When this four-footed terror comes along.
His repertoire of tricks is quite diverse
He sits, and shakes, and dies upon command;
His dietary habits, quite perverse:
He’ll eat most any poop upon the ground.
If Man’s Best Friend he’ll clearly never be,
Though yet I love him-paradoxic’ly.