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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.

Copyright © Tammy Armstrong | Year Posted 2006

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