SNOOTS
Say—have you ever given thought To snoots—just snoots? Most likely not! There’s so much else to think about That snoots get crowded out. An uncouth thing And yet most interesting Somehow, and so of snoots I sing And of that strange, instinctive sense— Mute marvel of God’s providence!
Now take a snoot that’s prowled around Like old Pete’s there—along the ground And through the brush from log to log— The plain snoot of a common dog. How often, knocking through the wood, Deep in the maples I have stood Stock still—and watched that canny brute. Tense to the trail, by rock and root, Zigzagging now, then onward straight! Not once there would he hesitate. Eyes to the earth, alert and quick, By briar, branch and broken stick, Till pausing short, with one glad bound And switching tail—his quarry found, He sprang to meet His master, crouching at his feet, At last content. And this strange thing—you call it scent
The leaves are trodden by a boot, A little later comes a snoot, And quick as thought it sniffs the air, The soil, and sifts the odors there. A hundred kinds of smells we’ll say, The mould, the moss, the worms, the clay The drying leaves, the twigs and stones, The fallen needles and the cones, The little flowers, the growing plants. The bugs, the chipmunks and the ants; And yet that sniffing snoot could tell Among all these, the one faint smell That lingered vaguely in the wake That two swift-striding boots might make.
You marvel at his skill when he, The master of a symphony, Detects one jarring note that comes Up through the beat of many drums, And tambourines and banging things, And blaring brass and whining strings; You cite some instance of the kind To eulogize the human mind— To show attainment absolute! I point you to my Peter’s snoot— Upon my lap he comes to lay Its cold, damp tip, still smeared with clay.
Oh, all you hordes of furry brutes, Be glad you’re blessed with telltale snoots, So nicely tuned that with a sniff Of earth or air, you catch the whiff Of danger there. You mountain sheep, Superb upon your rocky steep; You splendid elk, far domiciled In mountain fastness, coursing wild; You bonny deer and monster moose, Brandless, unfenced, will-free and loose; You wolves couched in your rock-ribbed lairs; You blubber-padded, big-pawed bears; You foxes tunneled deep in roots, Wise was the God Who gave you snoots!