HER DACHSHUND

HER DACHSHUND

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.

Read more Dachshund Poetry