He is a mere mortal one born to die
And in that respect I'm no different to him of that fact i won't lie
Thirteen going on fourteen for a dog that is old
And he has fathered puppies as i have been told.
Perhaps he might live for a year or two more
Old Banger the brown short haired dachshund next door
Gray around the muzzle the years on him tell
But one might say the Seasons he has worn well.
Perhaps his kind the smallest member of the race of hound
Long back, short legs and big stomach that almost touches the ground
With a friendly disposition and for his years quite game
He is dachshund by nature and dachshund by name.
Old Banger to greet me he never does fail
Each time he sees me he wags his short brown tail
Soon with Mother Nature he is destined to lay
And his lot it too will be my lot one day.
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