A Dogs' View

I'm only just a common racing dog,

  Simple in habit, and my diet's plain.

I have never had a longing for the grog

  That some men seem to need, more vim to gain.

And I have heard it said of such a one,

  Who in his swilling emulates the hogs:

"He's boozing day and night: he's getting done.

  Poor man," they say: "he's going to the dogs."

But now 'tis threatened that a dog should win

  A newer culture and a swifter pace

By taking to the whisky and the gin,

  That he may wax more reckless in the race.

And we, who hitherto have been content

  With just a lap of water and a rub,

Will soon enough contract that human bent

  Of knocking off and going to the pub.

And then, who knows?  Some badly balanced pup,

  Weak-willed, and too intent on hectic joys,

Will learn too soon the way to liquor up

  And have a jolly evening with the boys.

And we shall say of such a one, in blame:

  "It's quite all right to have one new and then;

But he has overdone this drinkning game.

  Poor dog," we'll say: "He's going to the men."

A recent alteration in coursing rules now permits that racing dogs may be "doped" with alcohol.