The Dog's Book of Verse Part 8

He's got a cunning little house, But you can't climb right in, at all-- Ain't hardly big enough for him; I guess it is a size too small.

'Cause when he is "at home" his head Stays looking out of his front door; His paws hang out convenient like, So's folks they will shake hands some more.

Old Rover-Dog, w'en he likes folks, He thumps th' floor hard wif his tail-- Where 'tis you've heard that sound before Is w'en your pa, he drives a nail.

One time my Uncle Fred p'tend He's "tramp-mans" an' will come right in; I put my ear on Rover's back So's I could hear th' growl begin.

An' oncet he thought he'd try his nap Right in my grampa's big armchair.

My grampa, he sat down on him, 'Cause "he wa'n't 'spectin' dogs was there."

'N Rover walked off dignified An' curled his back up 'gainst th' wall-- If grampas ain't got manners, w'y, He isn't goin' to care at all.

That's w'y I went an' 'xplained to him How grampas, they ain't imperlite, A grampa has th' bestest chair Because his hair is very white.

Nen Rover-Dog raise up one ear An' lift his nose fum off his paw, An' say his feelin's aren't all hurt If that was _candy_ that he saw!

'N w'en he'd et my choc'late cream He went an' finished up his dream.

MARIE LOUISE TOMPKINS.

HORSE, DOG AND MAN

The horse and the dog had tamed a man and fastened him to a fence: Said the horse to the dog: "For the life of me, I don't see a bit of sense In letting him have the thumbs that grow at the sides of his hands. Do you?"

And the dog looked solemn and shook his head, and said: "I'm a goat if I do!"

The poor man groaned and tried to get loose, and sadly he begged them, "Stay!

You will rob me of things for which I have use by cutting my thumbs away!

You will spoil my looks, you will cause me pain; ah, why would you treat me so?

As I am, G.o.d made me, and He knows best!

Oh, masters, pray let me go!"

The dog laughed out, and the horse replied, "Oh, the cutting won't hurt you, see?

We'll have a hot iron to clap right on, as you did in your docking of me!

G.o.d gave you your thumbs and all, but still, the Creator, you know, may fail To do the artistic thing, as he did in the furnishing me with a tail."

So they bound the man and cut off his thumbs, and were deaf to his pitiful cries, And they seared the stumps, and they viewed their work through happy and dazzled eyes.

"How trim he appears," the horse exclaimed, "since his awkward thumbs are gone!

For the life of me I cannot see why the Lord ever put them on!"

"Still it seems to me," the dog replied, "that there's something else to do; His ears look rather too long for me, and how do they look to you?"

The man cried out: "Oh, spare my ears!

G.o.d fashioned them as you see, And if you apply your knife to them, you'll surely disfigure me."

"But you didn't disfigure me, you know," the dog decisively said, "When you bound me fast and trimmed my ears down close to the top of my head!"

So they let him moan and they let him groan while they cropped his ears away, And they praised his looks when they let him up, and proud indeed were they.

But that was years and years ago, in an unenlightened age!

Such things are ended, now, you know; we've reached a higher stage.

The ears and thumbs G.o.d gave to man are his to keep and wear, And the cruel horse and dog look on, and never appear to care.

S.E. KISER.

THE BEST DOG

Yes, I went to see the bow-wows, and I looked at every one, Proud dogs of each breed and strain that's underneath the sun; But not one could compare with--you may hear it with surprise-- A little yellow dog I know that never took a prize.

Not that they would have skipped him when they gave the ribbons out, Had there been a cla.s.s to fit him--though his lineage is in doubt.

No judge of dogs could e'er resist the honest, faithful eyes Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.

Suppose he wasn't trained to hunt, and never killed a rat, And isn't much on tricks or looks or birth--well, what of that?

That might be said of lots of folks whom men call great and wise, As well as of that yellow dog that never took a prize.

It isn't what a dog can do, or what a dog may be, That hits a man. It's simply this--does he believe in me?

And by that test I know there's not the compeer 'neath the skies Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.

Oh, he's the finest little pup that ever wagged a tail, And followed man with equal joy to Congress or to jail.

I'm going to start a special show--'Twill beat the world for size-- For faithful little yellow dogs, and each shall have a prize.

ANONYMOUS.

CaeSAR, KING EDWARD'S DOG

No deeper, truer love could spring Spontaneously from human breast Than Caesar's, who has loved the king With all a dear dog's silent zest.

A dog's dumb way may not impart The grief that mortals can express, But who shall say that Caesar's heart Mourns his beloved king the less?

Since ours the faith, "Love lives in s.p.a.ce,"

His love, whene'er his soul takes wing, May be ordained, by Heaven's grace, To reach the spirit of the king.

O. MIDDLETON.

JUST OUR DOG

He was just a dog, mister--that's all; And all of us boys called him Bub; He was curly and not very tall And he hadn't a tail--just a stub.

His tail froze one cold night, you see; We just pulled the rest of him through.

No--he didn't have much pedigree-- Perhaps that was frozen off, too.