But his man laid the wire one pitch-black night and never came back again.
The pup stood by with one ear down and the other a question mark,
And at times he licked his dead friend's face and at times he tried to bark,
Till the listening sentry heard the sound, and when the daylight shone
He looked abroad and cried, "Bon Guieu! C'est le poilu de Carcassonne!"
So the dead man's copains kept the dog on the strength of the company.
And whoever went short it was not the pup, though a greedy pup was he;
They gave him their choicest bits of sinje and drops of pinard too;
He was warm and safe when he crept beneath a cloak of horizon-blue;
They clipped fresh brisques in his rough white coat as the weary months dragged on,