Here is a lovely poem about Bailey. Thank you to his owner, Gordon.
Waking in the morning comfy in my bed,
Underneath my duvet with a pillow on my head.
Contemplating wondrous things this brand new day will bring
Is shattered every morning when my whippet starts to sing!
He cannot sing an Aria, Zydeco or Rap,
Rock and Blues are not for him nor Pop or folk or Jazz.
He is unique, he has a style, an elongated growl
Without a vicious overtone it’s like a happy howl.
A warbling up and down, scales go round and ring.
We have that every morning when my Whippet starts to sing.Half awake, half asleep, far away from harm,
Until the Whippet’s cold wet nose makes contact with my arm.
My bed is my sanctuary, a haven, a retreat;
No ills can befall me here in my semi state of sleep.
This place under a fluffy cloud, on goose down rest my head
Until that bloody Whippet starts jumping on my bed.His skinny frame nestles next to me, the Whippet burrows in.
He can’t get away with it, can’t let the Whippet win.
This round though has gone to him
The Whippet’s snuggled in!
Ten more minutes in my bed semi slumber is this thing.
But the final peace is shattered when the Whippet starts to sing!