"cocker" poems
The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels
Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"
The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz
Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File
Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs
Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?
Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico
You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
I imagine if I were a little boy, I'd get a little boy hard on by watching teenage girls buy underwear.
And if I were a little boy, I'd punch my brother so hard he'd start to cry
And I'd die laughing at him,
take back my nerf gun, just for fun in the sun
and I don't get burned
because I haven't had a girlfriend yet.
I think little boys ********** the wrong way for a while
but still smile
because they're ************
Still keeping it secret from mom,
nothing's really wrong, it's the bomb,
but turn up this song
It'd be weird if mom heard all the pokemon names I keep saying to stay hard.
If I were a little boy, I'd be mean to the little girls I like.
Push them off their bikes and get into fist fights
with other boys over toys that aren't even mine.
And I'd keep all my promises by the pinky,
and if we got married under the oak tree
in my backyard, I'd keep you forever
and we could watch goosebumps every night together.
The little boy version of me doesn't get heartbroken
and isn't smokin' anything.
He doesn't get wasted and tasteless,
grab ***** and faces,
screaming about cheating and beating up some guy just to prove he's alive.
His shoes light up
not the headlights of the car that peels out of the bar
angry
not thinking straight, into the house, irate,
to deliver hate, and take out any sons ready to stand up to him.
He doesn't sell drugs,
he gives hugs at thanksgiving
and isn't too strung out to watch an entire disney movie
and would never be caught dead on the streets
shakin' a can for money because his habit's are debilitating and killing him.
He sleeps with one girl, her name is Daisy.
She's a lazy cocker spaniel
and loves him more than you ever will.
He likes cartoons and afternoons playing tag in all front yards
throwing snowballs at cars, going to mars on a swingset
because he's not grown up yet,
and the world hasn't told him what it really thinks about him.
I don't buy underwear in front of little boys.
And it's nothing against them or their little boy friends,
I just don't want me to be another key in the inevitable end
when they try to get into girls *******
instead of heads.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were opening one's lips so gorgeous and so creamy
greasing me stamen on the unfucked bonk
while the bangers let it rip in the alley
Those were the diseased minds and that was Newfangled York
we were squirting for the wads and the meatballs
and that was gobbled snog for the creamers inside Gloria
centrifugally stiff is thus those of White House Nazis
Ah but you copulated telescopic didn't you basket case
you just acidified your jockstrap on the shoulders of the scrum
you copulated telescopic I never once heard you use sign language
I input you, I don't intake you
I input you, I don't intake you
and all of that balling hard on
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were gorilla—like your ****** *********** was absolute epic
you leaked me again you frocked slap—up old salt
but for me you would **** an unzipping
And shaving your tongue because the creatures lust after us
who are barked at by the Daleks of *** appeal
you Rohypnolled yourself you emitted jet so what?
we are radioactive salvo we shoot full of holes the stride piano
*** one fine morning you copulated telescopic didn't you cocker
you just blunted your extremity on the cattle
you copulated telescopic I never once smelled you emit
I intake you, I don't input you
I intake you, I don't input you
and all of that balling hard on
I don't mean to insinuate that I slobbered over you peanuts
I can't withhold *********** of each crouched ****
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
that's oodles I don't even kick—start you that thick and fast
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
Sonnet pour mon épagneul anglais Nils
De son smoking de noir vêtu,
mêmes quand il court dans les rues,
à un artiste de gala
il semble emprunter le pas
Ton ventre est blanc comme une hermine.
Sur ton museau blanc, une truffe
Son dos de noir tout habillé.
Sur le front, il se fait doré.
De « prince », il s’attire le nom
Tant sa démarche est altiere ;
mais de « Nils », il a le surnom,
Car autant qu’un jar, il est fier.
Assis, il paraît méditer,
Sur le monde sa vanité.
De ses yeux noirs il vous regarde,
Comme un reproche qui s’attarde.
Quand il court, parmi les genêts,
Il fend l’air comme un destrier ;
Et le panache de sa queue
En flottant, vous ravit les yeux.
Mon épagneul est très dormeur,
Et aux sofas, il fait honneur.
Mais lorsque se lève le jour,
A se promener, il accourt.
Quand il dort, il est écureuil,
mais jamais, il ne ferme l’œil.
Un léger murmure l’éveille
Tant aérien est son sommeil.
Il semble emprunter le pas
Lorsqu’un aboiement le réveille
De sa voix, il donne l’éveil.
Et les chats, les chiens maraudeurs,
Il met en fuite avec bonheur.
Lorsque dans mes bras, il vient,
Son pelage se fait câlin.
Et la douceur de sa vêture
Lui fait une jolie voilure.
Sur ma table, sa tête repose
Lorsque je taquine la prose,
Comme pour dire ; même par-là,
je veux que tu restes avec moi.
Sous ma caresse, il se blottit,
comme le ferait un petit.
De ma tristesse, il vient à bout,
tant le regard qu’il pose est doux.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi), Toulouse.
***
Poème à ma chienne Laika dite «Caquine»
Tu as un gros museau,
Cocker chocolatine,
Des yeux entre amandes et noisettes
Teintés d’une humeur suppliante.
Ta fourrure est quelque peu rêche
Mais prend l’éclat de la noisette
et le reflet du renard roux.
La caresse se fait satin.
Ma fille Célia t’appelle : «Caquine»
Pour des raisons que je ne peux
Au lecteur dévoiler ici,
Mais toute ta place tu tiens.
A ta maitresses adorée
Tu dresses ton gros museau
Et te blottis pour la garder
En menaçant ceux qui approchent.
Tu es peureuse comme un lézard,
Et sait ramper devant Célia.
Mais ton museau, sur mes genoux
Au petit déjeuner veille et guette.
Quand je te sors, tu tires en laisse
Jusqu’à m’en laisser essoufflé,
Après avoir d’énervement
Dans ta gueule, mes chaussons saisis.
Sur les sentiers de senteur,
Ton flair à humer se déploie.
Tu es, ma chienne, compagnie.
De mes longues après-midi.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi), Toulouse.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
WOODSTOCK
They came from The South, The North and The West Coast
450,000 together for peace and music, half a million at most
Richie Havens inspired all while singing his "Freedom" song
Country Joe McDonald dropped "F" bombs his whole set long
Carlos Santana amazed us, as he gave all and sacrificed his soul
Arlo Guthrie with Woody's **** packed his pipe and smoked a bowl
Canned Heat and The Bear asked us to work together united stand
Levon Helm pounded skins and sang "The Weight" with The Band
Joe Cocker warned us more than once that he might sing out of tune
One after the other, CSNY, Alvin Lee, Sha Na Na midnight 'til noon
Janis gave a piece of her heart along with a "Ball and Chain"
Jefferson Airplane sang about Alice out in the pouring rain
The Fogerty's sang about where they were born and two girls one proud
And for the life of me I can't figure out why The Who played to this crowd
Jimi capped it off with The National Anthem and "Purple Haze"
the perfect ending to four long daze of rock and roll blaze
So if your travels take you to New York Up State
Stop at Bethel Wood, the place where Rock History was written in Slate
"1969, when music was grooved in vinyl and carved in Rock"
inspired by the song "Woodstock"
written by Joni Mitchell
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
Blackine, notre chiot cocker
Blackine, petite boule noire, aux yeux enfoncés, déjà tellement brillants. Tu es entrée dans notre vie après le décès de la cocker Laika, dont nous avions décidé en guise de deuil, de rendre heureuse une nouvelle chienne Cocker. Ton pelage est noir de geai, tu as les dents morbilleuses, et t'efforce de lover ton fin museau dans notre cou. Cette fois ci; nous sommes allés te chercher dans le Gers, cher pays de vallons, de collines, de cocagne et de cockers, Pour te ramener à «La Comtale», ou les terrasses sont au neuvième étage. Ta vitalité surprend l’homme au mitan de sa vie que je suis. J’avais oublié ces fureurs de mordre Et ce goût inlassable de jouer. Tu as vite repéré la porte de l’appartement, et même le bruit de l’ascenseur ne t’effraie plus mais te passionne, tant tu aimes déjà tant sortir. Chère Blackine, tout de noir vêtu, Tu amènes avec toi jeunesse et goût de vivre.
Paul Arrigh
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
In December of '64,
40 years ago,
I was sitting in the Hacienda bar
on the South Side
of things
and here comes this cocker
spaniel looking
************ named
Roosevelt.
This man-man slides
in, slaps Sam Cooke on the juker,
then claps my clock with
a ************* billiards ball.
On the floor ****
tasting tooth..
It was my 33rd birthday,
but as God had-had it,
it was also Roosevelt's.
And that motherfucker-man
had been drinking
bumpy face
and smoking jazz cigarettes
since 10 o'clock
in the morning.
Let's pause. Now. Now.
Now.
Now-you may be asking
yourself what a man like me
did to deserve this disrespect-
(Grins. Sips his drink.)
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
In the musical magnificence,
Bright-blue reflector movements
cover the melting color of the sky.
Darkness forms a space of eating-
No silence, yet.
White lyrics root in our soul spaces
allowing the vascular happiness
to ‘hold on’ the feelings as being in chains,
as well as in the rhythm of time-
No sadness.
The feelings swell, and branch
in the flowing sounds.
They embellish the souls.
While sparkling, the sounds
spring out from the feelings
into the sereneness-
No falling down.
The souls reach their state of grace
at the ‘human touch’.
White words mean his seducing voice.
The voice makes angles,
dances the spring of minds,
and feeds the ‘soul time’.
The grace dwells ‘ out of the blue’
as being the first scream of the earth.
The ‘human touch ‘ ‘feels like forever’
the seducing voice-
No emptiness.
The angles change at the ‘edge of a dream’.
The inside of hearing blows bluely the words.
The dream is born into a new, decomposable
silence due to the saxophone compositions.
This silence is a canvas
for a red art of nakedness-
No other angle.
From a forgotten corner,
the 'moon dew' comes
To get applause.
No other Joe Cocker.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
A young gentlemen named Grant Cragnell
Sought debauchery in Newport Pagnell
He got terribly drunk
Before sharing his bunk
With a ****** and a brown cocker-spaniel
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
The first was taken before we ever met.
My sister: curled beneath insulated blankets,
a pink bow vaseline-glued to her bald head,
glassy infant eyes turned in the direction
of a picture of me (red striped shirt, my favorite overalls,
velcro shoes). Mom taped it against the outside
of her incubator; so she would know her big brother
even if I wasn’t allowed to visit her yet.
The second shows the two of us at the back door
of our house on Circle Slope Drive. Her palms and nose
pressed firm against the glass as she peers out at Whitney,
the cocker spaniel who became an outside dog
after knocking her over one too many times. My hands are tucked
under her armpits, and I’m using every ounce of my
three-and-a-half-year-old strength to make sure
she don’t teeter back onto her diaper-cushioned ****
The third, a candid from the family trip to Islamorada.
She and I are walking down the pier, on opposing sides
of Ganga, each holding one of her soft grandma hands.
She was our buffer for those eight days,
and years following the trip. We face the sunrise–
electric pink sky dotted with periwinkle wisps.
Later that day, my sister asked me to come look for seashells
with her; I told her I wished I had a little brother instead.
The final, from my college graduation last May.
My sister and I are laughing in the arboretum.
As excited as I was to never again sit in Hamilton 100
or bubble in a Scantron, I was already missing
eating pho and reading poems, making her matzo ball soup
when her throat hurt, and trekking to the taco truck at 1 am.
Neither of us knew then that I would have this job and this desk
with these four photos, and room for more.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
**The old photograph
bordered with dust
a long gone memory
A childhood of hooded dreams.
The fresh oak tree
now blasted and cleft.
The woods redeeming in ashes
The sky grey with mist
The high pants and sneakers
haven for centigrades,
a **** in boots
Max, the Cocker Spaniel
his strayed legacy on streets.**
**The mood silent
The wind mourning
of old times of photographs**
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
Blackine, mordeuse de bonheur et de vie
Tu as bientôt cinq mois, et grandis inlassablement.
Ta vivacité s'aiguise comme tes dents nouvelles,
sur ma paume droite lorsque je téléphone.
Ton museau paraît de plus en plus pointu,
Comme si tu oscillais entre cocker et renarde.
Quand je te sors en laisse, j'ai du mal à tempérer ton élan.
Et je tire la laisse comme l'espoir perdu de dompter ta fougue.
Ton pelage noir paraît encore doux oison, entre plumes et velours.
Et tu grandis et tu grandis pour devenir grande chienne Cocker,
dont je serais si fier, un jour, Blackine la bourrasque. Blackine, la tant aimée.
Tu es ivre de bonheur débridé et de vie comme l'on est ivre d'amour et d'espoir.
Mais peu de plantes résistent à ta passion mordeuse.
Lorsque tu t’allonges avec ton pelage noir de geai,
tu parais épuisée mais ce n’est qu’un entracte,
et sitôt réveillée tu deviens antilope,
surtout lorsque tu cours pour libérer ta force.
Et cette vie, en toi, qui court comme un torrent,
Est jeunesse de feu et passion de la vie.
J'aime aussi, quand, sur tes deux pattes dressées, tu me montres ta joie,
et lorsque ton noir museau pointe sur mon bureau.
Comme pour demander la faveur que je t'y accueille aux côtés de l'ordi.
Paul Arrighi
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:25 AM UTC
Prolégomènes à un poème sur la disparition de notre Chienne cocker Laïka
Les Chiens et nous-mêmes
Je vous ferais parvenir le poème presque prémonitoire écrit, cet été à Letia en Corse , intitule «notre chien a onze ans» (en fait elle en avait dix ans et demi).
Ayant déjà eu, un chien cocker de couleur noire; lors mon enfance passée en Kabylie, répondant au nom de «Bambi» (le Faon de la bande dessinée de Walt Disney) j'ai appris à adorer nos meilleurs compagnons avec les chevaux et compte désormais les temps de la vie humaine en durées moyennes de vie passée en compagnie avec ce merveilleux et surtout si fidèle compagnon et ami de l'homme.
C'est à dire que pour une durée de vie moyenne de soixante-quinze ans, au mieux, je considère qu'elle correspond à cinq temps possibles de compagnonnages et d'histoire d'amitié avec un chien (d'un âge maximal au mieux de 15 ans)
Par conséquent, cinq longs temps de bonheurs nous sont donnés par la Nature pour que nous puissions bénéficier des bienfaits et de la compagnie de cet «animal», souvent bien plus «humain» et «gentil» ; hélas il faut bien l'avouer, que nombre de prétendus humains d'une cruauté inconnu dans la faune dite sauvage.
Nous allons demain et dans les jours qui viennent rechercher, un nouveau compagnon pour rester dans ce cycle de vie magique que je viens de vous révéler.
***
Notre chienne Cocker a déjà onze ans
Elle a parcouru onze ans de sa vie de Reine,
sans les soucis de l'étiquette et du labeur.
Notre chienne Laïka savoure sa quiétude,
mais se tient toujours près des valises et des sacs,
dès qu'elle observe un zéphyr de départ,
sa courte queue frétille devant sa laisse,
qu’elle prend dans sa gueule comme pour nous montrer le chemin,
car la « meute » doit se rendre ensemble sans jamais l'abandonner.
Ses deux pattes avec lesquelles elle se hisse sur les rebords de la table pour humer les plats.
Et son museau qu’elle love dans le coup de ta maîtresse pour lui signifier son amour.
Chère Laïka quand tes yeux attendrissants de cocker nous fixent je demande au Destin que tu puisses nous accompagner longtemps pour notre bonheur du présent et le demain de nos vies.
Seuls, ton museau blanchi et ta démarche moins vive, nous rappellent tes onze ans.
Paul Arrighi.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Went to bed with my mate Nathaniel never ever bothered to read the manual Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Died last night in a pool of baniel his name is Daniel and he is crazy he is Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
You see Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Ooh he died and came back to life again
As a chicken for that is his name
Chicken **** Daniel the cocker spaniel
Daniel Daniel the stupid mentally man I know he is suffering and I feel sorry for him
I want to save him from his problems of Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
He watches soccer especially Barcelona he watches the match and if they win
He will play we are the champions really loud
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
He was cool in a sort of a way
Yeah we had fun for this is just a joke to lighten the mood of the cocker spaniel named Daniel
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
How brazen of me to conceive:
the idea of my being a boy.
I wonder if I’d feel as free - as the cocker -
to wag my tail in rebellious lush,
to just move and walk with a careless pink flush...
I’d never worry about my gait,
nor about my hair...
I’d never worry about tights hugging my stomach
nor setting my shoulders straight when bare;
I’d forget about my purse, pockets my only pounds.
I’d run and chase with sweet independence,
heaving my chest forward, arms out--
ready to emit a Tarzanian roar bout.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
When I dance crazy around my room,
Singing out loud, , just as you do,
My Cocker Spaniel, joins in too,
She is a silly Betty Boo,
The Terrier George, is a different case,
His expression says, oh for ***** sake.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
I remember that when I was young
A bunch of Insects taught me All I Need,
The Walrus showed me my Imagination,
And a couple Stones gave me Satisfaction.
Three Idiots Held My Heart Like a Grenade,
And Thnks go to a cartoon for giving a band its name.
My good friend Jimi led me through the Haze,
And the words of a Pie dropped me into a maze.
Old Blue Eyes was with Apollo when it Flew to the Moon,
And the Cops sang of a set of colored Eyes too.
Now, lets not forget those old composers,
And the Sweet Children who filled our Guns with Roses.
The King of Rock said Only Fools Rush In,
The Queen said Champions Fight ‘Til The End
The Prince played his guitar like a god,
And the Jester’s voice was a little odd.
Those surfer Boys sang about Vibrations,
While the Lizard King expressed his Fiery intentions.
Mr. White was always there to set the mood,
And Mr. Brown explained how to Feel Good.
Ms. Franklin taught me how to spell,
Mrs. Robinson got me out of hell,
Ms. Perry’s figure was like a Dream,
And Mrs. Ross still reins Supreme.
One blind man sang of his home in Georgia,
And another was Superstitious.
A guy named Ozzy served as my conductor
As I looked out at the Smoke on the Water.
Michael danced like no one else,
And Kurt rebelled against life itself.
Cocker left the stage with nothing left to give,
And it was music that taught me how to live.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 3:14 PM UTC
Few memories remain
from when I was Five.
One that does, is still alive.
Her name was Penny,
a copper colored,
old Cocker Spaniel Dog.
Mostly blind, moved only slowly
deep into her last few years.
We lived across the street about
a block from my Grade School.
How she did it I will never know,
but every day when the dismissal bell rang
at 3:00, just outside my class room door,
There all alone, Penny would be,
Her old Sweet face waiting for me.
Like clock work as if she knew
the exact time of day,
she crossed the busy avenue
walked up the street and went
straight to my class room.
After greeting me with a lick or two,
she dutifully walked me home from school.
If a person thinks that a dog
has no real love to give,
I would politely, advisedly say
"Sadly, in this one fact, you are
greatly mistaken."
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
He walked right into the wooden door
time seemed to stand so still
and then it was as if his life
was presented before him to be relived.
He first saw his beloved parents smiling
and Monty, the cocker spaniel he loved
he saw his grandfather with his snowy-white hair
then his brother stood beside him laughing
as a little boy again, at the gypsy who knocked
at the door and was trying to sell lucky white heather.
He saw his sister and her friend playing cards
in the parlour, and then his friends from school
throwing a rugby ball in his direction to catch.
Suddenly it rushed forward to his adult life
his wife, his children, the fun, and all the pain.
And then it stopped and he passed through the door
but
he never went home again.
©Joe Wilson – In Transit 2014
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
Mike and Liz are taking a road trip
They're riding in a stretch limo's zip
Across America's vast landscape strip
Taking turns at driving the shinny black ship
Liz though prefers to ride in the back
Where she can keep the sun roof all the way cracked
With a big toothy grin and a sweet girly laugh
This to her is where life is at
On Route 66 with Mike at the controls
The radio blaring Joe Cocker Rock & Roll
Tapping the steering wheel in a sweet beat
As he gazed through the Oklahoma heat
Passing a cop doing a hundred and ten
In the blink of an eye, fast as the wind
By the time the cop figured what just went down
Mike and Liz were five miles out of town
They picked up a hippie hitch hiking in Kentucky
Told them today they were both lucky
After winning a big heist down at the track
They could buy plenty of gas and diner snacks
While at the first diner when they turned their backs
He slipped a little something into the drinks that they had
Left over from Woodstock, you know those were the days
From that point on the trip was one long psychedelic haze
Somehow they ended up in a place called Strawberry Field
Where they danced around the Californian mountain wield
Their journey becoming stranger mile after mile
Getting to their destination with the widest of smiles
Taking the limo to the edge of the tide
With the Pacific Ocean as deep as it is wide
The trip at it's end putting the limo in drive
Both stood on the shore as they waved it bye, bye
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
he old guy he die
he old guy who once sat in the sun
he had a cocker spaniel who sat in the sun
and soothed like custard the old guy both die
he lived for plays drama actors
many entrances and exits
now where he be
in the not to be
spotted only by our mind's bright light
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
A night of glo sticks, in shades full of neon, of raffles and crackers.
All sadly gone.
The neon will fade.
As will do the writers of words.
Passed poets and musicians must all be at peace.
Those that passed today, may play at Heavens Gate, a party for the rock stars gone.
A boogie woogie date.
Let the music play on
As Christmas is brewing, take a sip of a special cup.
A cup full of good cheer, but never enough.
To bring back to mind past lovers of passion who went out of their minds.
Who sang all the songs and spoke loving words, until what once was normal became so absurd.
The last days of the years I cry no more tears ,except for the artist who left us today.
Dedicated to the late great Joe Cocker and A.N.Other, my last one time lover.
(c) Livvi
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
I didn't expect my black Cocker Spaniel to die.
He died 30 years ago today on the 14th of July.
He was born in 1981 and Poochie was his name.
He was killed by a car and it was a **** shame.
Poochie was unfriendly at times and sometimes he would bite.
But he was my dog and when that car killed him, it wasn't right.
It was sad because my dog couldn't live anymore.
He died thirty years ago on July the 14th of 1994.
Jul 14, 2024
Jul 14, 2024 at 3:24 PM UTC