Thorns may hurt you, men desert you, sunlight turn to fog;
but you're never friendless ever, if you have a dog.
My sunshine doesn't come from the skies,
It comes from the love in my dog's eyes.
With eye upraised his master's look to scan,
The joy, the solace, and the aid of man:
The rich man's guardian and the poor man's friend,
The only creature faithful to the end.
You're only a dog, old fellow;
a dog, and you've had your day;
But never a friend of all my friends has been truer than you always.
Julian Stearns Cutler
THE HALF BREED
They call me a Boxer,
But I'm a Half-Breed.
Part Boxer of course,
and part people indeed.
Anyone who owns me knows it's true.
We're so close to being people,
we're like part of you.
"He's one of the family,"
you've heard people say.
"Don't know how we'll manage when he passes away."
But they'll get another Boxer,
a pure bred at first.
Not the most well-behaved puppy,
but far from the worst.
Then the change will take place,
the same as before.
They'll end up with the same human HALF-BREED once more!
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