Our little dog died yesterday, the grief we feel is deep,
But he died with grace and dignity; he was put to sleep.
We couldn’t bear to see him suffer, as indeed he would,
Because the stroke that floored him did not let him function as he should.
He filled our lives with love and joy, he cannot be replaced,
Our lives are emptier without him but that’s a fact that must be faced.
If you felt depressed or lonely, Macgregor would be there,
He’d make you laugh and sing again, a dog beyond compare.
If you were feeling uninspired, he’d get you out your rut,
He was a harum sacrum reprobate, a mischievous wee mutt.
He died on my mother’s birthday*, and I’d like to think,
That she’s now looking after him, giving him food and drink.
We loved you so Macgregor, your boots we cannot fill,
You graced our minds, our lives, our hearts, and you always will.

 

* My mother died several years ago. And she, like everyone else, adored Macgregor.