The Day The Dog Died

Written by: Gail Blakeley

The Day The Dog Died

The very day her dog had died ;
she sat alone and cried and cried.

He'd been her companion for many a day ;
she thought he'd be there when SHE went away.

She wept and wept all through the night ;
somehow, her husband would make it all right.

They got in the car and went to the pound ;
she, so discouraged, just looked at the ground.

"Pick out another", her old husband said ;
"You have to face it, your boy dog is dead."

Then the old lady walked slowly outside ;
tears rolled down her face, she wanted to hide.

Up rambled an old dog, a female was she ;
crawled into their car, as bold as could be.

The dog sat patiently waiting there ;
not moving a muscle, going nowhere.

"She just picked us out !", the old lady cried ;
"I thought I'd have no friend till' the day I died."

Now both the old girls sit in a chair;
discussing the world and going nowhere.

That little dog had a very sad past ;
now, she has someone to love her, at last.

She's given the dog a name, Dee Dee,
she listens intently, her chin on Mom's knee.

They pass the long hours being together;
in rain or snow, through all kinds of weather.

So, if this is a  "dog's life", lucky is she;
there's just not a  better place to be.

Perhaps they will leave on the very same day,
for, to each, there is no other possible way.

I think of them often....they'r gone from this earth;
I'm nearing her age and I  not nearly her worth.

Although. three little dogs sit on my bed;
listening and playing and tilting their heads,
at each and everything I say;
like it was important in some sort of way.

I understand the importance of each little creature ;
to someone, somewhere, for they are the teachers.