I’ve been feeling under the weather,
It is winter and bones can get cold…
Especially when you reach my age
And your two-legs keeps saying “You’re old.”
Now, I know that in ‘dog years’ I’m eldest,
Though the theory has been disproved
That I’ll age seven years in your twelvemonth
So the argument leaves me unmoved.
Because, me, I’m a puppy when playing…
I can chase, fetch and squeak things all day
Where she’ll only survive for an hour
Before she tries running away.
I can go chase a cat in the garden,
Then I’ll see off the birds, it’s no chore
And if cows are becoming a problem,
I can see off the whole herd mid-snore.
But my two legs appears to be fragile,
There are some who would treat her like glass…
Meanwhile, I think that she would do better,
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