DEATH OF A DOG
(sometime in the ’80s.)
(Her name was not Tita; I call her that in the
poem so it’ll pass the censor, in case there’s
one in this blogatorium; it was un poco vulgar
anatomic term that my teen-age son Larry (RIP)
picked for her, for obvious reasons.)
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-Her name was Tita,
part of the family
for 12 years…
-So gentle that she let
burglars into the house,
twice…
-Not much of a guard dog,
but how she loved
to run after the ball!
-She died today…
went to where good Dobermans go.
-End of a poem.
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