When my dog died.

When my dog died
It was the end of an era.
It ended with a phone call
And choked back tears
In a cafe on a street and she wasn't with me.
I wasn't with her, she was already gone.

"I'm afraid she's got cancer the size of an orange."
Now when I see an orange I think of my dog.

I'd took her in, to pick her up later.
I didn't know I'd never see her again.
Her time was up; I said "Don't wake her."
She was only a dog.
Fourteen years by my side.
And I wasn't there when she died.