Esaw waz a mity hunter, but whether he kept a houn, or followed the cent himself, iz az ded, and departed to us, az the chirp ov the fust reliable cricket.
We read that Esaw sold out hiz birth rite for soup, and menny wonder at hiz extravegance, but Esaw diskovered arly, what menny a man haz diskovered since, that it iz hard work tew live on a pedigree.
If i waz starving, I wouldn’t hesitate tew swap oph all the pedigree I had, and all mi relashuns had, for a quart of pottage, and throw two grate grandfathers into the bargain.
But I don’t intend this essa for dogs in the lump, but for the individual yellar dog himself.
The yellar dog haz no pedigree, the blood in hiz veins iz az krude az petroleum, when it fust cums pumping out ov the earth, bitter, thick, and fiery.
He iz long, and lazily put together, hiz ears flop when he shacks along the dusty thoroughfare, and hiz tail iz a burden.
Thare iz no animashun in a yeller dog’s tail, it iz useless, the flies aint even afraid ov it, it iz wus than a 10 per cent mortgage tew the rest ov hiz boddy.
Whi the Yeller dog aint born diskounted, iz a mistery tew me, but when i ask miself, “Whare would yu hitch the tin pan to,” then at once the folly ov a bob tailed yeller dog, flashes on mi mind.
Ever since this kontinent waz found bi Christopher Columbus, in 1492, and for what i kno, much time previous tew that, 112 the Yeller dog haz been a vagrant, travelling bi moon lite, and hungry bi natur.