Bull Terrier Blues Poem by Norman Coppola

Your greeted me at the door once,
by accident, I think.
You never barked when cars drove in
or growled at strangers,
useless little Taz.

We couldn't shock you hard enough
to keep you in the yard,
though you did take note when the truck
rolled over your head,
rugged little Taz.

I saw you cringe at rustling wind
and hide when I yelled
at the kids. I know, sometimes
I was rough on you.
Sorry, little Taz.

You learned from me to come, to fetch,
to smartly sit for snacks
and snap them from the air, and tear
snorting around the rug,
clever little Taz.

No dog ever longed more than you
to harass the barn cats
and grapple hard with other dogs.
You drove them crazy,
playful little Taz.

When I'd let you out the door and hiss,
"Go get ‘em", there was really
nothing out there, but you bounded
woofing around the yard,
fearless little Taz.

You won a show or two, somehow,
and had puppies once
and chewed their ears and made them mad.
You showed your high breeding,
Tsaritsa Taz.

When I cooked you lurked at my feet,
eyes cocked at the floor.
An omnivore, you ate all food.
No waste with you around,
my disposal, Taz.

Tazzie, you got sick. Suddenly
all your bounce was gone,
your thirst and appetite. We thought
some pills and shots might make you right.
But no, little Taz.

When you were lurking at my feet last night,
eating scraps I dropped,
you were happy, and I thought
you might not die as quickly
as you did, little Taz.

I dug a hole your size. The flies
bit my hands, the dirt
was hard. I sweated, made it deep.
I took my hat off then,
for you, little Taz,

And picked your body up and wrapped
it in your blanket
and put it in the hole and wept
for you. I loved you well,
my useless little Taz.