My first home after marriage, was a rather shabby flat,

Up three awkward flights of stairs, we were thankful to have that.

That was back in nineteen fifty, and flats were hard to find,

Climbing up those stairs myself, I really didn't mind,

But it wasn't quite that simple, I found it quite a slog.

For when my in-laws, lost a daughter, I gained a collie dog.

He simply loved to go for walks, his twice daily treat,

But when it came to climbing stairs, he had brakes on all four feet.

After climbing up two flights of stairs, with the dog hugged to my chest,

I had to take a breather, then struggle up the rest.

Eventually we'd reach the floor, where we had our flat.

At last I could put Tony down. we both were glad of that.

He would dash inside and chase about, when I opened up the door.

Worst luck we had no carpets, only lino on the floor.

We did our best to keep him quiet, so as not to cause ill will.

He got more cuddling than my wife, just trying to keep him still.

Often in the wee small hours, he'd start to pace the floor.

If I didn't take him walkies, he'd scratch our bedroom door.

To carry him down and up again, was no fun, you must agree,

It was still harder in the dark, and to do it quietly.

We'd walk around the local park, watering all the trees.

Then I'd let him chase me, burning up his calories.

He was wide awake and sprightly, on making our return.

But after climbing up the stairs, I had nothing left to burn.

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