The Day the Dog Died
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.
Copyright © Gail Blakeley | Year Posted 2010
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