The pampered pup my lady keeps
Upon a silken cushion sleeps.
She feeds him with her dainty hand
Upon the fatness of the land.
She bathes and combs him every day
And pets him in a loving way.
For many reasons, I would like
To be that happy little tyke.
But I should really like to know
What makes her love that Dachshund so.
Is it because the dog loves her?
No more than I, of this I'm sure.
Oh, would my lady care for me
If I like him should strive to be?
He's ugly as the greatest sin,
So looks do not her affection win;
I think he's like a threshold mat;
To me he's lazy and very fat;
His temper bad, he barks and growls
And most unmusically howls.
How can she like him? It beats the band,
It's something I can't understand.
I think if I should growl and swear
And cultivate rank growth of hair
And put on lots of adipose
And walk about so that it shows
She would not think I was improved
Or find herself to pity moved.
But if she wants, I think that I,
To emulate that dog would try.
My willingness I therefore tell
To my lady in this doggerel.
By Bill Sole for the American Dachshund magazine, October, 1972.
Unrelated mid-Century photo source unknown.
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