Gone to the Dogs

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By NANCE BUR­NETT

Such a bright young chap named Mel­low

(re­ally a nice, and el­e­gant fel­low)

Whose am­bi­tion it was to see and be seen

In pas­tures that were more than green.

As well as pas­tures green and new,

He wanted money, the Big-time, too.

The best way, he thought, this dream to ful­fil

And frown on his face he set with a will

Bought Cas­ket, Lotto, and “went to the dogs”.

(He’d have stood a chance by fat­ten­ing hogs!)

And then he had the great idea

And this would work, so never fear!

So out he went, him­self to buy

A grey­hound dog that caught his eye.

Ah, now he would be filthy rich –

So should he buy a dog or bitch?

As time went on the dog grew sleek

And Tony’s bank ac­count grew weak:

A trainer to pay, the dog to keep

And meet his needs. It costs a heap!

The hu­mil­i­a­tion when the dog

Came down the track next morn­ing’s fog!

He pet­ted, ca­joled, and took it to bed

(I thought he wasn’t right in the head).

His friends have lost their shirts – not quite,

As­sur­ing Tony it’s quite all right.

Now Tony’s run­ning round and round

And wear­ing holes into the ground,

And on this sub­ject he’s most pro­found:

“Oh, please! Won’t some­one take my hound?”

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