A Cold Wet Nose

( with apologies to Robert Burns)

O, my luve he has a coold wet nose,

He came to me in June.

O my luve has his own melodie

That's sweetly howled in tune.

As hoongry art thou, my bonnie lad,

So deep in luve am I,

And I will fill thy bowl, my dear,

Till the kibble bags gang dry.

Till the kibble bags gang dry, my dear,

We'll go walkin' in the soon!

And I will pitch thy toy, my dear,

And after it ye shall roon.

I'm off to work, my oonly luve,

And fare thee weel a while!

I really weel come home, my luve,

Though it were ten thousand mile!