Pitoco

"Pitoco was a little dog
That I got from my godfather
One Christmas night
He was clever, very active
Had two very lively eyes
Jumping around
Early in the morning I would get up
Pitoco was the one waking me up
With barking that wouldn't stop
He would make such a fuss
Lick my forehead
He even wanted to kiss me

On Sunday very early
I would grab my slingshot
The pellets in the bag
Pitoco would run ahead
Jumping with joy
Rolling in the grass
Pitoco barked, barked
Showing so much happiness
Without anything to worry about
And I would shoot a pellet
Making a poor little thrush
Do a somersault

That fun
Of great joy
Would even reach the sun
And today my conscience hurts
For biting disobedience"
It was a Sunday of the month
The day of Saint Agnes
There was a party in the village
My mother and the kids
All dressed up
We went out on the roads
To the chapel to pray

I ran off on a path
With Pitoco and the slingshot
Suddenly I got scared
I cried out to Virgin Mary
A bushmaster on the road
Struck to catch me

Pitoco jumped ahead
Fought against the snake
But couldn't escape
At the moment he was dying
It seemed like he was even laughing
At my mischief
For not being able to save him

Poor thing died barking
With his eyes so lively and beautiful
In this hollow world
Where friends are few
After Pitoco died
I never had another like him