Shaggy

I had an old dog. His name was shaggy.

Long matted hair and tail so waggy

His mom was a collie. His daddy a rambler,

Half Airedale and a half springer spaniel.

He killed the rats and groundhogs

Screwed the bitches and fought the dogs.

He looked so cute and brown and black

But he’d run a deer down if it had a big rack.

He didn’t listen. He didn’t mind.

He was only interested in being his kind.

Shaggy wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t well-heeled.

He just wanted to run all free-wheeled.

A farm dog born of manor and mirth,

His kind once ran hard on the earth.

But just as passed on a winter’s day,

I knew I’d never again have a dog that way.

We now must keep them locked up well

And not let them roam heaven and hell.

But still I miss that wild freeborn wag

That came from old mongrel Shag.

***

Forgive me my doggerel. I composed all this nonsense as I was going to bed one night.

I never had a dog named Shaggy, but I knew many dogs like him.

Natural History

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