( 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!