(For the record: In some versions of the story, homunculi, like cockatrices, are best aged in a dunghill under the watchful eye of a brooding toad.)
Long years ago, on mounded dung, an old familiar sat,
And proud he was, to be a toad, not common cat or rat.
Within the dung, a bottle hid, and waited for the day,
When Master Mage would come again, and clear the dung away.
The day arrived, the wizard came, and loosed the flask enchanted.
The seal was cracked; the spell complete: Grumlakh had been decanted.