In a dog's life

A year is more like seven

And all too soon a canine

Will be chasing cars in doggie heaven



It seems to me

As we make our own few circles 'round the sun

We get is backwards

And our seven years go by like one



Dog years- It's the season of the itch

Dog years- With every scratch it reappears



In the dog days

People look to Sirus

Dogs cry for the moon

But those connections are mysterious



It seems to me

While it's true that every dog will have his day

When all the bones are buried

There is barely time to go outside and play



Dog years- It's the season of the itch

Dog years- With every scratch it reappears

Dog years- For every sad son of a bitch

Dog years- with his tail between his ears



I'd rather be a tortoise from Galapago

Or a span of geological time

Than be living in these dog years



In a dog's brain

A constant buzz of low-level static

One sniff at the hydrant

And the answer is automatic



It seems to me

As we make our own few circles

'Round the block

We've lost our senses



For the higher-level static of talk