What do you do with the old dogs,
The ones that are past, their glory gone by,
The ones that didn't win, however they tried,
The ones that did win, but later turned shy,
The first one you bought that had a light eye.
They're eating their heads off, the food bills are high,
What do you do with the old ones?

Find them good homes is the answer, it's clear,
But the only good home that mine wants is right here.
Their own special sofa, covered with hair.
They all cut their teeth on the dining room chairs.

The safe familiar paths of their days,
The garden, the outing, their own funny ways,
That only I know...and even their food,
If not given by me, wouldn't taste half as good.

So now I'm deep in the old ones,
who are not good at all,
Who clutter the sitting room, kitchen and hall.
Who need to be brushed, to be walked, to be fed,
Who want only me to put them to bed!

They're faithful and loving and set in their ways.
I'm stuck with them all for the rest of their days.
But I have to confess that when we do have to part,
I'll miss them so much,
It will just break my heart!
- Unknown