Petronius was solid; he just was
The dog, the only dog on earth, because--
Because a red-haired boy who likes his dog,
He likes that dog so much no other dog
Exists--and that, my friends, is loyalty,
Than which there is no grander ecstasy.
FREDERIC P. LADD.
MY DOG
Here is a friend who proves his worth
Without conceit or pride of birth.
Let want or plenty play the host,
He gets the least and gives the most--
He's just a dog.
He's ever faithful, kind and true;
He never questions what I do,
And whether I may go or stay,
He's always ready to obey
'Cause he's a dog.
Such meager fare his want supplies!
A hand caress, and from his eyes
There beams more love than mortals know;
Meanwhile he wags his tail to show
That he's my dog.
He watches me all through the day,
And nothing coaxes him away;
And through the night-long slumber deep
He guards the home wherein I sleep--
And he's a dog.
I wonder if I'd be content
To follow where my master went,
And where he rode--as needs he must--
Would I run after in his dust
Like other dogs.
How strange if things were quite reversed--
The man debased, the dog put first.
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