He was granite in form, in spirit, in soul—
A living statue carved from loyalty whole.
No storm could move him, no plea could sway,
Yet in his eyes, the gentlest day.
Pine cones were trophies, proudly chewed,
A pastime noble, calmly pursued.
Stuffed Panda, his plush-eyed foe and friend—
Both battle and cuddle, beginning to end.
His fury was fire, his stance firm and wide,
Not anger unchecked, but passion with pride.
A roar for justice when rules made no sense,
A stance that declared: “I’m my own defense.”
Alaskan salmon, his gourmet delight,
Devoured with gusto each savory bite.
And beneath his growl, a wisdom ran deep—
A sentinel's watch, no secrets to keep.
His masculinity wasn't loud, nor wild—
It was dignity clothed in the snore of a child.
Unshakable love, protector and sage—
A heart made of granite, softened with age.
So here's to the Bulldog who knew his worth,
Whose spirit now runs beyond this earth.
He didn’t just bark—he made meaning known.
And we are less, in a world he’s outgrown.
