We're back on the banks of Lake Pontchartrain,
My Richard, Waggy, her puppies, and me.
The leaves in the mountains on the way down
Were such a sight for us all to see.
It was quite a sight for others,
Passing by Waggy's loaded truck;
We had everything but the kitchen sink
And a many pointed handsome buck.
We had not enough room for a postage stamp
Under Waggy's big blue FEMA tarp,
And Waggy had to content herself
With a space not big enough for a dog's bark.
Six hundred miles Richard drove us
As we chatted about our sixty years
He never once complained
Probably glad there were no tears.
That's one thing about my friend Waggy
She and I always find a way to laugh
Even when she takes upon herself
What seem to others impossible tasks.
After all she's done to help us
In our overwhelming partial move
She says it was the kind of vacation
Of which she and her puppies approve.