My Second Life

By Jim Hagarty

If I come back some day as a dog,
I hope I get me as my master.
Cause I am a real pushover.
A veritable dog owner disaster.

I would feed myself way too well,
From the table scraps on my plate,
And only take very short walks.
The long strolls we both really hate.

In the evening, I’d sit on my lap
Snarf potato chips straight from the bowl.
And we’d both ignore the poor vet,
And never do as we’re told.

I’ll miss me when I finally go.
I can guarantee both of us that.
But my hope is, now and forever,
That I don’t come back as the cat.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.