Keats, Keats with those large magical feet,
His steady watchfulness, studious and serious gaze earned him his name.
"Sir Keats vom Baklahausen"
Our Keats, like his name sake, struck everyone he met with his tremendous energy, robust good humour, and zest for living.
Keats' poetry, unlike his name sake's, came not with words
but in the sheer poetry of his movement, his song and
those ever dancing feet.
How they danced and glided the ground, an athlete true and proud.
The song he would sing, brought joy to those he charmed.
Arummp, he could scold when his food was too slow
A Tap dance, a turn.
Arummp, Arummp, lets go
"Keats".

Some memories of
"Sir Keats vom Baklahausen"
aka
"Keats"
March 28, 1995 ~ September 4, 2005
Dancer & Athletic Director
of the Rested Dog Inn

The Rainbow Bridge will swing, not to mention ring, with our boy Keats.
With his bells he loved to ring.
Christmas he'll bring for all at the
Rainbow Bridge to sing.
We will miss you buddy.
Those you left behind will keep you close. Always.
See ya later.