Mom and Dad rescued him when he was only two.
When I was three he was bigger than I really knew.
I'd brush his shaggy hair
and he would just stand there
and wait patiently until I was done,
then shake and he'd look like he had before I'd begun.
Because of that we called him Tramp.
He was a big fur ball with clumsy feet,
and he was never ever neat,
except for being the neatest dog ever.
Does that make any sense whatsoever?
Well I grew and was finally bigger than he,
But it sort of never felt that way to me.
There's something about a boy and his dog
That even best friends can never replace,
Especially that happy, shaggy face.
One day I came home from school
And Mom said he had died.
I went off on my own and cried.
To me he was always bigger than me
-- Always will be...