He could talk with a doggish lingo
In his own peculiar way,
And I could understand it all--
Whatever he had to say.
He'd jump to my call at the moment,
And utter his gruff bow-wows,
As he tagged my heels in the good old times
When we went after the cows.

I told him all of my secrets,
And he kept them without fail,
With never a sign that he knew them
But a wag of his short, stump tail.
Long years have passed since I heard them.--
The sound of his gruff bow-wows,
As he tagged my heels in the good old days
When we went after the cows.

"Those are very good verses, Mrs. Goose," your Aunt Amy said when the
last line had been read, and she replied as she plumed her feathers:

"So I think, although Mr. Crow says they are foolish; but that's because
he doesn't like Mr. Towser Dog. What I admire about them is that they
show what a good friend to a boy an animal can be. Now if Sammy Boy had
made friends with the calf, he wouldn't be in the house this very minute
waiting for his broken arm to get mended."