Dogs

I've never met a man who hated dogs.... One meets with all sorts as through life he jogs The mean ones, and the vain ones, and the rash, The foolish fellows who splash up the cash. The brisk 'live wires,' the dull, the sodden logs - But I have ne'er met one who hated dogs. (I think I'm fortunate in this, somehow, For, if we ever met, there'd be a row). Mayhap I'm prejudiced; mayhap I'm wise To judge a fresh acquaintance by his eyes. But show me one who has a dogs' straight look, And I can read that fellow like a book. I know him for a man who'd be a friend, A mate, a sticker to the very end. (He who can't comprehend this last remark Is not worth one poor mongrel's joyous bark). I left a dog up in the bush last week. He was my one good pal, who'd never seek To take advantage of my frailties (And, heaven knows, I have enough of these). He was my one good pal who trusted me, And when the day of parting came, why, he - (Well, maybe we had better draw the line, I get so sloppy o'er this frined of mine). But when I saw that look come in his eyes, Well - you know what it is when your dog tries To tell you things - Oh, I think it's all rot To say a man could hate dogs. He could not. Men surely are superior. Well, then? Where could you find a dog who hates all men? (My brothers, think this over, and reflect: E'en curs hold qualities we may respect).