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sire: Fruit
d'Amour Khaos FIGARO By: Roy Forrester
We called him Figaro because it had to be Italian He was an Italian dog, a Neo, from Napoli no less You could smell the Medice in his breeding even when just a tiny pup.
Tiny! even then the Mass in Mastiff showed itself. Tiny? no-one would call HIM Tiny! His feet were big enough on their own, a dinner plate each one.
His face was comical, someone called him "Goofie." I’d defy them to call him Goofie now. That comical face is now Majestic, even awe-inspiring.
Now when he moves it’s with a self styled swagger. He’s afraid of nothing and nothing stands in his way, Except me perhaps. I’m the Boss, the Alpha male.
I’d better keep it that way, better keep him bluffed That way he can inspire fear and awe into those who would threaten me. I could stand up to Alexander the Great with Figaro by my side.
I’ve seen him just about demolish our other dog and she’s not small, But the elder by far. She’s got two years on him, but she doesn’t stand a chance. He’s one year old tomorrow but stands half a foot taller.
I’d hate to think what he could do to someone he was really angry with, But to me he’s just a big soft cuddly pup. Get off the bed Figaro! GET OFF THE BED FIGARO! "Yeah alright Dad."
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