The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 4

is cold, and I'm feeling blue,?He asserts his right to assuage my woes?With a warm, red tongue and a nice, cold nose,?And a silky head on my arm or knee,?And a paw as soft as a paw can be.
When we rove the woods for a league about?He's as full of pranks as a school let out;?For he romps and frisks like a three-months colt,?And he runs me down like a thunder-bolt.?Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair?Is a gay little pup with his tail in air!
ANONYMOUS.
MY BRINDLE BULL-TERRIER
My brindle bull-terrier, loving and wise,?With his little screw-tail and his wonderful eyes,?With his white little breast and his white little paws?Which, alas! he mistakes very often for claws;?With his sad little gait as he comes from the fight?When he feels that he hasn't done all that he might;?Oh, so fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog,?My near little, queer little, dear little dog!
He shivers and shivers and shakes with the cold;?He huddles and cuddles, though three summers old.?And forsaking the sunshine, endeavors to rove?With his cold little worriments under the stove!
At table, his majesty, dying for meat,--?Yet never despising a lump that is sweet,--?Sits close by my side with his head on my knee?And steals every good resolution from me!?How can I withhold from those worshipping eyes?A small bit of something that stealthily flies?Down under the table and into his mouth?As I tell my dear neighbor of life in the South.
My near little, queer little, dear little dog,?So fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog!?The nearest and queerest and dearest of all?The race that is loving and winning and small;?The sweetest, most faithful, the truest and best?Dispenser of merriment, love and unrest!
COLETTA RYAN.
LAUTH
He was a gash and faithfu' tyke?As ever lapt a sheugh or dyke.?His honest, sawnsie, bawsint face?Aye gat him friends in ilka place.?His breast was white, his towsie back?Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black.?His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl,?Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swurl.
ROBERT BURNS.
THE DROWNED SPANIEL
The day-long bluster of the storm was o'er,?The sands were bright; the winds had fallen asleep,?And, from the far horizon, o'er the deep?The sunset swam unshadowed to the shore.
High up, the rainbow had not passed away,?When, roving o'er the shingle beach, I found?A little waif, a spaniel newly drowned;?The shining waters kissed him as he lay.
In some kind heart thy gentle memory dwells,?I said, and, though thy latest aspect tells?Of drowning pains and mortal agony,?Thy master's self might weep and smile to see?His little dog stretched on these rosy shells,?Betwixt the rainbow and the rosy sea.
CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER.
PART II
THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP
_"A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and?reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens."_
SENATOR GEORGE GRAHAM VEST.
CLUNY
I am quite sure he thinks that I am God--?Since he is God on whom each one depends?For life, and all things that his bounty sends--?My dear old dog, most constant of all friends;
Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I?To him whom God I know and own; his eye,?Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod;?He is more patient underneath the rod
Than I, when God his wise corrections sends.?He looks love at me deep as words e'er spake,?And from me never crumb or sup will take?But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail.
And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear?He is content and quiet if I'm near,?Secure that my protection will prevail!
So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he?Tells me what I unto my God should be.
WILLIAM CROSWELL DOANE.
THE BEST FRIEND
If I was sad, then he had grief, as well--?Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw,?Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw?More than my halting, human speech could tell;?Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate--?Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate.
If I made merry--then how he would strive?To show his joy; "Good master, let's to play,?The world is ours," that gladsome bark would say;?"Just yours and mine--'tis fun to be alive!"?Our world ... four walls above the city's din,?My crutch the bar that ever held us in.
Whate'er my mood--the fretful word, or sweet,?The swift command, the wheedling undertone,?His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone,?His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet:?Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed,?Ye taught me trust when man's dull logic failed.
MERIBAH ABBOTT.
MY DOG