My, but yer hair wuz long an’ thick
When yeh pulled little Sally out o’ the crick;
An’ it came in handy that night in the storm,
We coddled to keep each other warm.
Purty good dog, I’ll admit—but, say,
What’s the use o’ talkin’ yeh had yer day.
I’m hopin’ the children won’t hear the crack,
Er what’ll I say when I get back?
They’d be askin’ questions, I know their talk,
An’ I’d have to lie ’bout a chicken hawk;