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).