He celebrates a birthday,
Today he’s two years old,
That big, black, beast called Hector,
Who won’t do what he’s told.
So will he now, I wonder,
A grown up dog, play ball,
Desist from doing what he does,
And come each time I call.
Or will he still continue,
As I suspect he might,
To do the things he’s prone to,
That cause him such delight?
Consuming what he shouldn’t,
And drooling ere he feeds,
Whilst plotting as he does so,
Dim dark disturbing deeds.
The gooseberries he’s gobbled,
Rhubarb remains at risk,
Like Pavlov’s dogs, he can’t resist,
His reflexes are brisk.
But in the scorching sunshine,
This canine cat keeps cool,
With jam packed gut he ruminates,
On fruity, flavoured, fool.
A furry, fiendish fellow,
He daily causes grief,
Some ask me why I love him,
It beggars their belief.
But though he is a monster,
With very little brain,
His driving me around the bend,
Is all that keeps me sane!
‘Cos as we walk together,
Along life’s shady paths,
Each day it’s surely safe to say,
He brings me lots of laughs.
So Happy Birthday Hector,
You goofy, gorgeous, goon,
I hope you have a smashing time,
This twenty-eighth of June!
Read Hector’s full life story here
Some musings 