To a Good Dog, Our Loafy

His name was Troy, but I called him Loafy, Cause he looked like a loaf of bread; Fat, so fat his neck had rolls, Right up to the top of his head. That little dog was so determined, So full of life and zest; He’d need a ramp to mount the sofa, Or fall flat on his chest. And in the wintertime he’d freeze, And stand there till he died; So we would put his booties on, And walk him by our side. Sometimes we’d have to carry him, Cause arthritis was his vice; His legs so narrow, just like sticks, Would crumble on the ice. He’d chase the cat but scramble much, And bark a whiny bark; So heavy, he’d roll off the couch, To catch it in the dark. But Loafy, he was loved by all, Until that faithful day; When something started to appear, Upon his face of grey. It seemed that thing that grew on him, Made all his ailments worse; He barely walked and couldn’t bark, Without a heaving curse. So with a heavy sigh of sorrow, We took him to the vet; They told us he had cancer now, Our mother’s loving pet. That day was harder than the next, For our endearing mother; She left her Troy to go to sleep, And never loved another.