Old Dogs
What did you say?
I'm not in the running,
move out of the way.
My pack doesn't need me,
I'm too slow to stay.
Just an old workin' dog,
but I still want to play.
I can fetch a ball,
maybe…
not right away.
No quick Terrier,
I feel so middle aged.
But in my day.
I chased a few posties
and taxis away.
Head and tail high
Glossy fur on display.
Now Jack Russells all laugh,
"Look at his coat,
it's so gray."
or in my case,
simply absent
like I've got the mange.
Just like my potential,
hair today…
gone tomorrow,
so strange.
But I'm not gone!
I still remain,
clearly on display.
Like the old dog at the SPCA
no families are coming
to take me away.
That grizzly old Alpha,
who knows what to say
to the young pups,
all the rules I relay.
But they snap and growl.
Is my knowledge passé?
Taken for dogsplaining,
when I want to convey,
the tricks I have learned,
mistakes I have made.
They say, "We won't make them."
Different times I'm afraid.
So maybe this new blood,
must become the cliché,
follow their instincts,
the old-fashioned way.
So I will stay quiet,
do my job as I may,
and slowly and surely
let my sway
slip away.
For there comes a time
when old dogs walk away.
Leave the herding behind
and sleep out the day.
I know it is coming
like the winter in May.
My old bones feel its chill,
but to the cold wind I say,
Not today!
There's bark and there's bite left,
in this old Huntaway.
So to rolling over quietly
I simply say,
there's cattle to muster
so let's not delay.
Let me up on the truck,
there's still light in the day.
I will run the old trails
chase the sheep
where they lay.
Till my nose is too dry
and my bark fades away