Lo, upon the great stage of Las Vegas, Sir Rod Stewart, now in the fullness of his eightieth year, did lift his voice as though the heavens themselves had granted him strength. Though grievous tidings had struck his household but hours before — the passing of his beloved hound, Bubbles — the knight of song stood undaunted, his spirit unbroken.
Arrayed in garments that shone as the stars of the firmament, he moved with grace most noble. Each word he sang was as a prayer wrought of sorrow and joy, and the multitude that gathered did raise their own voices, joining his in harmonious tribute. When the final note was loosed into the night, the people rose as one, thundering their acclaim in a standing ovation, honoring not only his art but his steadfast heart.
In that moment Sir Rod did mark his two hundredth performance at the Colosseum, a milestone most wondrous. “What a ride it hath been,” spake he to his faithful followers, who in turn poured forth words of praise and congratulation. Many rejoiced that they had borne witness to so hallowed an eve, esteeming it a memory to be treasured forevermore.
Yet amidst the jubilation, grief did dwell within his house. Lady Penny, his noble wife, revealed unto the world that their cherished companion, the gentle beast called Bubbles, had been taken by the hand of fate. With sorrowful heart she penned her lament: “Heaven is lucky to have thee, as was I.” In earlier days she had told of the creature’s affliction, that a cruel malady had laid its claim. Still, the faithful hound abided with love until his final breath.
Thus was the night both triumph and lamentation, joy and mourning woven together. For Sir Rod, the stage became a place of healing, where grief was transfigured into song, and the love of the people bore him aloft. Truly, in the face of sorrow, he proved himself not merely a minstrel of renown, but a knight of enduring spirit, whose voice shall echo long after the world is hushed.
