The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 4

grown up.
He plays around about the house,
As good as he can be,
He don't
seem like a little dog,
He's just like folks to me.
And when it is my bed-time,
Ma opens up the bed;
Then I nestle
down real cozy
And just make room for Ted
And oh, how nice we cuddle!
He doesn't fuss or bite,
Just nestles
closely up to me
And lays there still all night.

We love each other dearly,
My little Ted and me.
We're just good
chums together,
And always hope to be.
MAXINE ANNA BUCK.
LITTLE LOST PUP
He was lost!--Not a shade of doubt of that;
For he never barked at a
slinking cat,
But stood in the square where the wind blew raw,
With
a drooping ear, and a trembling paw,
And a mournful look in his
pleading eye,
And a plaintive sniff at the passer-by
That begged as
plain as a tongue could sue,
"Oh, Mister, please may I follow you?"

A lorn, wee waif of a tawny brown
Adrift in the roar of a heedless
town.
Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin
Is a little lost pup
with his tail tucked in!
Well, he won my heart (for I set great store
On my own red Bute,
who is here no more)
So I whistled clear, and he trotted up,
And
who so glad as that small lost pup?
Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed,
And he fairly shouts
when he hears my tread.
Then if things go wrong, as they sometimes
do,
And the world 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