While Turbo was born without his front legs, he was hardly handicapped.
He skittered across the floor with the speed of a Cheetah and walked on his hindlegs with the confidence of a lion.
Barely half a year old, he was taking the world by storm...until he was taken from us too soon, and left a trail of broken hearts behind.
THE CURATE THINKS YOU HAVE NO SOUL
The curate thinks you have no soul;
I know that he has none.
But you, Dear friend, whose solemn self-control,
In our foursquare familiar pew,
Was pattern to my youth -- whose bark
Called me in summer dawns to rove --
Have you gone down into the dark
Where none is welcome -- none may love?
I will not think those good brown eyes
Have spent their life of truth so soon;
But in some canine paradise
Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,
And quarters every plain and hill,
Seeking his master...
As for me,
This prayer at least the gods fulfill;
That when I pass the flood and see
Old Charon by the Stygian coast
Take toll of all the shades who land,
Your little, faithful, barking ghost
May leap to lick my phantom hand.~ St. John Lucas
