BETTA                   

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it.
But mostly he didn't come at all.
He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on.
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
And now she's dead.

And there are nights when I think I feel her
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat her head.
And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke her hair.
But she's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so.
I'll always love a dog named Betta.

ARRIVAL STORY