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.
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