Sniffing and spraying and doing the rounds,
My greying Mutt, he nobly clowns,
Over the ridge and beyond the brook,
Playing the Copper then playing the crook,
Protecting the children as they cower in fright,
No assailant to collar, no rascal to fight,
Alone once again, his back to the wall,
This hero of dogs, he sulks in the hall,
The dog he is dead, his cot it remains.
His spirit roams freely about the lanes,
And how could he know, I remember him still,
To people I know and people I will,
I can only salute this flash in the pan,
This dog amongst men, with a tilted hand.
He cocks his leg back, somewhere in the fog,
My sublimely ridiculous and memorable dog.