His Dog

Pete bristles when the doorbell rings. Last night he didn't act the same. Dogs have a way of knowin' things, An' when the dreaded cable came, He looked at mother an' he whined His soft, low sign of somethin' wrong, As though he knew that we should find The news that we had feared so long. He's followed me about the place An' hasn't left my heels to-day; He's rubbed his nose against my face As if to kiss my grief away. There on his plate beside the door You'll see untouched his mornin' meal. I never understood before That dogs share every hurt you feel. We've got the pride o' service fine As consolation for the blow; We know by many a written line He went the way he wished to go. We know that God an' Country found Our boy a servant brave an' true- But Pete must sadly walk around An' miss the master that he knew. The mother's bearing up as well As such a noble mother would; The hurt I feel I needn't tell- I guess by all it's understood. But Pete- his dog- that used to wait Each night to hear his cheery call, An' romped about him at the gate, Has felt the blow the worst of all.