by Cindy Crouch
Tuffy's still with us but getting old,
He's blind and deaf and sometimes cold.
This past year he's taken a dive,
The Dr's are amazed he's still alive.
This past August he turned sixteen,
Now as always, he's still my king.
In humane years and reality
Tuff's one hundred and twelve with no casuality.
When five O' clock comes feeding time,
He screams and squeals, he's spry as chimes.
Tuff lives to eat, it's sad but true.
Why are we both so tired and blue?
Mom's really selfish for holding on,
To her little boy whose lived so long.
It's hard to let go, cause I'll feel so alone,
Without my boy upon my throne.
The day will come and it's getting close,
When we will have to take that final dose.
Tuffy will be happy and miserable no-more,
That's what I'll hold on to, as I walk out the door.
God will have Tuffy and he will be fine,
While Mom is seen crying and left behind!!!
By: Celinda Crouch October 1, 2002