What's Love Got To Do With It?


Here's my story it's sad but true
But then when your an old dog what ya gonna do
It all started with my usual nap
A little child startled me an I did snap

So off I went to doggy jail
Even my loving eyes did fail
You see this jail is called a Shelter
Strange name for a place of helter skelter

Is this the place where my life will be finished
How come the child didn't get punished
Now all my life I have been loving and devoted
But now I'm old and not a cute young thing let it be noted

When I was young I use to run and play
But when I'm old in this place I'll stay
What do they do with an old dog may be your thought
Their life is ended with a shot

You may think what good is an old dog like me
Look into my eyes and you will see
In my heart is a lot of love
In this shelter you get a push and a shove

As I see the people walk by me
Look into my heart can't you see
I've been a good dog all of my life
I don't deserve to die in this place of strife

Things are so bad even rescue thinks I'm too old
It sure does make my old bones go cold
All dogs like me ever wanted to do
Is live the rest of my life with a human like you

Now this story has a happy ending
Cause Rusty life is now trending
Along came an angel named Cheryl
To end the existence and this evil peril

She found me a home with love and devotion
Now I live with Wild Bunch emotion

Rusty & The Wild Bunch


The Season for Old Friends


                In my green youth spring beauties bloomed,

                Violets jeweled my life with friendly faces.

                Each promised purpled constancy

                And each I clasped and cherished.

                Years, clustered, ripened in my summer's sun,

                Bade me dream of wine to share.

                Friendships warmed in lengthening days

                While butterflies, spiraling, ascending, danced.

                Now fallen acorns wait for leaf burial;

                Now wither white rays and golden heart

                Of pearly everlasting, false to its name.

                Trees rust in cold, damp nights

                To mirror my own autumn oxidation.

                The harvest falls to foxes

                And purple verities are dun and done with.

                Strange, in the grimness of winter's glare,

                Hope ripens orange on persimmon trees

                Whose bitter fruit begins to shrink,

                To soften, yes, to die.

                But mystery unfolds as just before release

                It is transformed to total sweetness.

                Hold on, my heart, relinquish naught

                Which through the seasons love has bought.

                Old dogs are dearer than the rest;

                Old wine is good, old friends are best.

                © 1980, Fred Lanting. Use only with permission



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