Chapter 5

PUPPYHOOD

_"What other nature yours than of a child Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call, In wordless pity, to the souls of all, Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute And constant friendship links the man and brute?"_

THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE

WE MEET AT MORN

Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear A patter coming nearer and more near, And then upon my chamber door A gentle tapping, For dogs, though proud, are poor, And if a tail will do to give command Why use a hand? And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping, And next a scuffle on the passage floor, And then I know the creature lies to watch Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch. And like a spring That gains its power by being tightly stayed, The impatient thing Into the room Its whole glad heart doth fling, And ere the gloom Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled, I hear a bounce upon the bed, I feel a creeping toward me--a soft head, And on my face A tender nose, and cold-- This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace-- And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung, The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue --And so my dog and I have met and sworn Fresh love and fealty for another morn.

HARDWICKE DRUMMOND RAWNSLEY.

THE LOST PUPPY

Say! little pup, What's up? Your tail is down And out of sight Between your legs; Why, that ain't right. Little pup, Brace up!

Say! little pup, Look up! Don't hang your head And look so sad, You're all mussed up, But you ain't mad. Little pup, Cheer up!

Say! little pup, Stir up! Is that a string Around your tail? And was it fast To a tin pail? Little pup, Git up.

Say! little pup, Talk up. Were those bad boys All after you, With sticks and stones, And tin cans, too? Little pup, Speak up!

Say! little pup, Stand up! Let's look at you; You'd be all right If you was scrubbed And shined up bright. Little pup, Jump up!

Say! little pup, Bark up! Let's hear your voice. Say, you're a brick! Now try to beg And do a trick. Little pup, Sit up!

Say! little pup, Chime up! Why, you can sing-- Now come with me; Let's wash and eat And then we'll see, Little pup, What's up!

HENRY FIRTH WOOD.

A LAUGH IN CHURCH

She sat on the sliding cushion, The dear, wee woman of four; Her feet, in their shiny slippers, Hung dangling over the floor. She meant to be good; she had promised, And so with her big, brown eyes, She stared at the meetinghouse windows And counted the crawling flies.

She looked far up at the preacher, But she thought of the honeybees Droning away at the blossoms That whitened the cherry trees. She thought of a broken basket, Where curled in a dusky heap, Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears. Lay snuggled and fast asleep.

Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle, Such queer little hearts to beat, Such swift round tongues to kiss, Such sprawling, cushiony feet; She could feel in her clasping fingers The touch of the satiny skin, And a cold, wet nose exploring The dimples under her chin.

Then a sudden ripple of laughter Ran over the parted lips So quick that she could not catch it With her rosy finger-tips. The people whispered "Bless the child," As each one waked from a nap, But the dear, wee woman hid her face For shame in her mother's lap.

ANONYMOUS.

TREASURES

They got a bran' new baby At Bud Hicks' house, you see. You'd think Bud Hicks had somethin' The way he talks to me! He comes around a-braggin', An' when he wouldn't quit I said: "What good's a baby? You can't hunt fleas on it."

Then Bud turned to me an' told me How loud that kid could yell, An' lots I can't remember, He had so much to tell. But I got tired o' hearin' An' so I ast him, quick, "If you wuz in a-swimmin' Could it go get a stick?"

There is no use a-talkin', Bud thinks their baby's fine! Huh! I'd a whole lot rather Jest have a pup like mine. I'll bet it's not bald-headed! But if Bud doesn't fail To let me hear it yellin', I'll let him pull Spot's tail.

ANONYMOUS.

THAT THERE LONG DOG

Funniest little feller You'd ever want to see! Browner 'an the brownest leaf In the autumn tree. Shortest little bow legs! Jes' barely touch the floor-- And long--b'gosh, the longest dog I ever seen afore!

But he's mighty amusin', For all 'at he's so queer, Eyes so mighty solemn, Askin' like an' clear, And when he puts his paws up, Head stuck on one side-- Jes' naturally love every hair In his durn Dutch hide.

ALICE GILL FERGUSON.

MY FRIEND

True and trustful, never doubting, Is my young and handsome friend; Always jolly, Full of fun, Bright eyes gleaming Like the sun-- Never see him blue or pouting From the day's break to its end.

Whether I am "flush" or "busted" Makes no difference to him! "Let's be gay, sir"-- He would say, sir-- "Won't have any Other way, sir!" Oh, he's never cross and crusted-- Light of heart and full of vim!

Often we go out together For a ramble far and wide-- Catch the breezes Fresh and strong Down the mountain Swept along-- For we never mind the weather When we two are side by side.

But my friend is sometimes quiet, And I've caught his clear brown eye Gazing at me, Mute, appealing-- Telling something, Yet concealing, Yes, he'd like to talk! Well, try it-- "Bow, wow, wow," and that's his cry!

ANONYMOUS.

TED

I have a little brindle dog, Seal-brown from tail to head. His name I guess is Theodore, But I just call him Ted.

He's only eight months old to-day I guess he's just a pup; Pa says he won't be larger When he is all 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.