RAGS.

We called him "Rags." He was just a cur,
        But twice, on the Western Line,
That little old bunch of faithful fur
        Had offered his life for mine.
And all that he got was bones and bread,
        Or the leavings of soldier grub,
But he'd give his heart for a pat on the head,
                Or a friendly tickle and rub.
And Rags got home with the regiment,
        And then, in the breaking away-
Well, whether they stole him, or whether he went,
        I am not prepared to say.
But we mustered out, some to beer and gruel,
        And some to sherry and shad,
And I went back to the Sawbones School,
        Where I still was an undergrad.
One day they took us budding M. D.s
        To one of those institutes
Where they demonstrate every new disease
        By means of bisected brutes.
They had one animal tacked and tied
        And slit like a full-dressed fish,
With his vitals pumping awav inside
        As pleasant as one might wish.
I stopped to look like the rest, of course,
        And the beast's eyes leveled mine;
His short tail thumped with a feeble force,
        And he uttered a tender whine.
It was Rags, yes, Rags! who was martyred there,
        Who was quartered and crucified,
And he whined that whine which is doggish prayer
        And he licked my hand -- and died.
And I was no better in part nor whole
        Than the gang I was found among,
And his innocent blood was on the soul
        Which he blessed with his dying tongue.
Well! I've seen men go to courageous death
        In the air, on sea, on land
But only a dog would spend his breath
        In a kiss for his murderer's hand.
And if there's no heaven for love like that,
        For such four-legged fealty-well!
If I have any choice, I tell you flat,
        I'll take my chance in hell.
EDMUND VANCE COOKE.

A TAIL (sic) OF TWO DOGS

She had no fancy pedigree
No ribboned claim to fame
But just a part bred foxy she
And Mitzi was her name.
A gentle lady to the core
Her heart was full of love,
Not just a pet, this dog was more
A gift from One above.
At six years old our daughter had
A tumour on the brain,
To operate would just be mad
The doctors did explain.
Treatment made her lose her hair
And very ill she'd be,
Then we would say in our despair
"The dog, dear, go and see".
So with the dog our daughter stayed
'Til sickness passed away,
The love and care that dog displayed
Meant more than I can say.
Thanks be to God, our daughter's here
And thanks to doctors too,
And though I fear it may sound queer,
To Mitzi thanks are due.
Alas, at age of fourteen years
Our friend was put to sleep,
We feel no shame that many tears
For her we all did weep.
"No further dogs for me", I said,
"It causes too much pain
They steal your heart, next thing they're dead,
Why suffer that again?"
But for the children's sake we thought
Another dog we'd try,
A smooth and short haired pup we sought
An Aussie cross did buy.
Sandy her colour and her name,
This tiny short haired pup
A long haired "Benji" soon became
As this young pup grew up.
With this new dog we had such fun
We felt disloyalty
Lest we forget the other one,
But this could never be.
She loved all creatures, well almost,
For cats she loved to hate,
She never caught one but could boast
None made it through the gate.
Dog owners only will believe
She knew each word we said,
To spell a word did not deceive
Her shaggy wise old head.
But then there came that dreaded time,
We stroked her as she went
To join our Mitzi in some clime
Where canine souls are sent.
Where that may be, I do not know,
But only hope and pray
That when it's time for me to go,
In that same place I'll stay.
A Jack Russell bitch now we own,
Will sanity prevail?
Right out the door our peace has flown,
But that's another tail.
Mel Austin

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