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In a dog's life A year is 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 is backwards And our seven years go by like one Dog years- It's the season of the itch Rush Dog years- With every scratch it reappears In the dog days People look to Sirus Dogs cry for the moon But those 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- with his tail between his ears I'd rather be a tortoise from Galapago 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 we make our own few circles 'Round the block We've lost our senses For the higher-level static of talk