'Tis a curse to us canines; that no person well can doubt
Who has sense.
They who think we doggies share old maid's sentimental fad,
Just as though it really were a dog's privilege to go mad,
Must be dense.
Muzzles are a bore, of course, rather troublesome at times,
But I'd rather have my nose made incapable of crimes,
Than go free,
With the chance of "going off," giving friend or foe a bite.
And be clubbed to death or shot, murdered in my master's sight,