for any human,  for this dog or any dog  believe in heaven, yes, I believe in a heaven where I 
come in, but he expects . No, my dog looked at me giving me the necessary attention the necessary attention to make a vain
understand that being a dog, he
with those eyes, purer than me I,
lost time, but I watched his eyes
reserved
me all your sweet, your furry life
his quiet life,
near me, never troubling,
and asking nothing.
 
Oh how often would I have a tail
walk beside him along the banks
 
 
 
 
 
of
 
 
 
sea
in the winter of Isla Negra,
inthe great
 
 
 
 
 
loneliness
 
 
 
: up transferring birds air glacial and my dog leaping, bristling, full voltage ocean in motion:  my dog wandering and flying  olfactory  his golden tail facing the ocean and its foam.  happy, happy, happy        
 
as
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
dogs can be happy with nothing
,
with the autonomy of their shameless.
No goodbye my dog that died.
 
And there is no lie thereo a rusted old machine. Some day I'll join him right there, but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,  his bad manners and his cold nose,  and I, the materialist, who never believed  in any promised heaven in the sky  for any human being,   I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.  Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom  where my dog waits for my arrival 
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth, of having lost a companion who was never servile.  His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine  withholding its authority,  was the friendship of a star, aloof,  with no more intimacy than was called for, ly winter of Isla Negra   where the wintering birds filled the sky   and my hairy dog was jumping about  full of the voltage of the sea's movement:  my wandering dog, sniffing away 
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
  
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died, and we don't now and never did lie to each other.   So now he's gone and I buried him,  and that's all there is to it.                     
   
  
  
 
come in, but he expects . No, my dog looked at me giving me the necessary attention the necessary attention to make a vain
understand that being a dog, he
with those eyes, purer than me I,
lost time, but I watched his eyes
reserved
me all your sweet, your furry life
his quiet life,
near me, never troubling,
and asking nothing.
Oh how often would I have a tail
walk beside him along the banks
of
sea
in the winter of Isla Negra,
inthe great
loneliness
: up transferring birds air glacial and my dog leaping, bristling, full voltage
as
dogs can be happy with nothing
,
with the autonomy of their shameless.
No goodbye my dog that died.
And there is no lie thereo a rusted old machine. Some day I'll join him right there,
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth, of having lost a companion
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died, and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
 
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