Your dog is not a dog of grace; He does not wag the tail or beg; He bit Miss Dickson in the face; He bit a Bailie in the leg. What tragic choices such a dog Presents to visitor or friend! Outside there is the Glasgow fog; Within, a hydrophobic end. Yet some relief even terror brings, For when our life is cold and gray We waste our strength on little things, And fret our puny souls away. A snarl!
A scruffle round the room! A sense that Death is drawing near! And human creatures reassume The elemental robe of fear. So when my colleague makes his moan Of careless cooks, and warts, and debt, — Enlarge his views, restore his tone, And introduce him to your Pet!
Quod Raleigh.
