"All my bags are packed and I'm ready to go"
"I'm standing here outside the kennel door"
"I'd hate to knock you up to say goodbye"
"My heart is beakin' and it's early morn"
"the taxi's drivers just stifled a yawn"
"already I'm so lonesome I could cry"

"I'm leaving with my chillblains"
"Don't know if I'll be back again"..........see I have written you all a song. Granted it leans a little heavily on something from John Denver but nevertheless it shows what I could do for this liitle community if I was but given the chance. Just one chance to stay within the warmth and vitality of this wonderful Cafe.

But no, he thinks, with a small sigh, as he tries to wipe the tears from his warm brown eyes, the tears that were jerked from the years of rejection and neglect. The small spotted dog gently lifts the red handkerchief that holds the only possessions he cares about (an old Gibson J45 guitar, a copy of every dogs communion prayer book and his blue Mudcat T-Shirt that he would sooner die than part with ,even though it doesn't now fit his emmaciated little body.)

With a faint whimper, but head still held errect with what little pride he can muster (as his mother taught him all those years ago when life was good and music sweet and wholesome). Life didn't come with any guarrantees, he knows that and swallowing the huge lump welling up in his throat he limps off (Editors note :- His leg was damaged as a small dog as he saved a little girl from almost certain death by pushing her out of the way of a run-away truck. The wheels however went over his left back leg and he has had a limp ever since) into the cold and unfeeling night.

Spot the Dog