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.
Continue reading at The Small Dog’s Blog