Dog Years

In a dog's life A year is really more like seven And all too soon a canine Will be chasing cars in doggie heaven It seems to me As we make our own few circles 'round the sun We get it backwards And our seven years go by like one Dog years It's the season of the itch Dog years With every scratch it reappears In the dog days People look to Sirius Dogs cry for the moon But these connections are mysterious It seems to me While it's true that every dog will have his day When all the bones are buried There is barely time to go outside and play Dog years It's the season of the itch Dog years With every scratch it reappears Dog years For every sad son of a bitch Dog years With his tail between his ears I'd rather be a tortoise from Galapagos Or a span of geological time Than be living in these dog years In a dog's brain A constant buzz of low-level static One sniff at the hydrant And the answer is automatic It seems to me As well make our own few circles 'round the block We've lost our senses For the higher-level static of talk