oneighty
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Fri Apr-29-05 10:50 AM
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| Doctor Pushkin My Doggone Dog |
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Edited on Fri Apr-29-05 10:54 AM by oneighty
He messes up the house he does Does his resting anywhere Flopping here, flopping there Leaving behind his discarded hair. Doggone dog.
He is just a hairy eating machine Eats all over eats anything. A buck a day he puts away. Doggone dog.
Angered one day I strike him away. He whines and cries And licks my hand. Doggone dog.
End. From 'Voyages of the Vicky Mary' Copyright.
Much later I lay deathly ill and they come and they take my Doctor Pushkin away--away to a farm where he could run and be happy. So I am told. I am too weak to leave the bed to go to the truck where he was tied to say good bye.
Doctor Pushkin my very last dog.
Doggone it.
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JitterbugPerfume
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Fri Apr-29-05 06:13 PM
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that you can not have a dog any more Ed <sigh>
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JitterbugPerfume
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Sat Apr-30-05 12:04 PM
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for my friend oneighty
and his cool poem
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DU
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Fri Oct 24th 2025, 02:45 PM
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