When the dog no more remembered

where yesterday's bones were buried,

the old girl began conversing

with her long-dead mother and father.

 

His eyesight blurred and during walks

he attached himself to strangers:

she wrote off to Her Majesty

claiming blue-blooded connections.

 

At night he would lose his bearings

and come barking into bedrooms:

she rang the railway and requested

a Return to 1940.

 

He grew too slow for sticks we'd throw

and deaf to our exhortations:

she wedged into a wheelchair tuned

to the BBC Home Service.

 

We finally had the dog put down,

he was buried in the garden:

she wore best togs and waved a flag

at the VE Celebrations.