My Dog

MY DOG
Joseph M. Anderson. 

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.
I often wonder how 'twould be
Were he the master 'stead of me -
And I the dog.

A world of deep devotion lies
Behind the windows of his eyes;
Yet love is only half his charm -
He'd die to shield my life from harm.
Yet he's a dog.

If dogs were fashioned out of men
What breed of dog would I have been?
And would I e'er deserve caress.
Or be extolled for faithfulness
Like my dog here ?

As mortals go, how few possess
Of courage, trust, and faithfulness
Enough from which to undertake.
Without some borrowed traits, to make
A decent dog!