This is a poem I wrote for a friend's dog ... or for my friend. We were all involved in stock dog trials at the time and she had this dog that spent his life just being her dog... while all the other dogs were doing "important" things like working sheep or cattle and competing for prizes and money. They had to put Mickey down this year and I needed to find this poem for her.
In the dog world there are many breeds
Well known and world renowned
But none know their calling in life the best
As a true, purebred porch hound.
Some may scoff at his questionable lineage
His only papers she housebroke him on
And he does things like sit and roll over
And sings to his favourite songs.
He’s caused the odd wreck in the sheep pen
Puttin’ a paw in just to help out
If there’s two commands he listens to
It’s “git yer butt home” and “git out”.
But he knows who home belongs to
For all others he sounds the alarm
He reads strangers like an open book
Known’ the good from those who mean harm.
He’s kept her feet warm in the winter
And on long nights when she couldn’t sleep
He knows her better than she does
And knows secrets he’ll always keep.
Through the winding road of life he’s stayed
Glued right to her side
He’s bounced and played when she’s laughed
And nudged her hand when she’s cried.
Damn near human he gets quite incensed
If kennelled up at all
How can he do his lifelong job
Surrounded by four walls?
I’m sure the average working stock dog
Feels he couldn’t walk the ground they tread
But when it’s 40 below in their kennels
He’s cureld up at the foot of her bed.