Page 38 - Poetry-Animals

To My Lost Luray

In a box with his brother,
Each solacing the other,
The puppy left Virginia by express,
A gift to me. He knew my first caress,
And made me love him by his puppy pranks,
His roguish bites and barks and kissing thanks.

The pretty little fellow
Had paws of tawny yellow,
And nose and chops the same; and two tan spots
Above his hazel eyes, that seemed like dots
Of thought upon his forehead; and for the rest,
In sable, shiny black, Luray was dressed.

I thought him so much better
Than any puppy setter,
I took him to the Dog Show; with his eyes—
I know it was his eyes—he won the prize.
(He was the only entry in his class,
Some friends took pains to say—but let that pass.)

As soon as he grew older
His fluffy puppy shoulder
Stood high and gaunt; his loins began receding;
In every line and point he showed his breeding.
The time has come, said I, to test his grain,
And now, if ever, to begin to reign.

I improvised a quarry
And made him fetch and carry,
And “charge” and “heel” and “find”; do all, in short,
To fit a setter for a life of sport.
He did not learn his lesson in a day,
And often sought to shirk his work for play.

I tried not to upbraid him,
Though often, when I made him
Do this or that, he taxed my patience much;
For if I held a bone in careless clutch,

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