His Dog

Pete bristles when the doorbell rings.

Last night he did n't act the same.

Dogs have a way of knowin’ things,

An’ when the dreaded cable came,

He looked at mother an’ he whined

His soft, low sign of somethin’ wrong,

As though he knew that we should find

The news that we had feared so long.

He's followed me about the place

An’ has n't left my heels to-day;

He's rubbed his nose against my face

As if to kiss my grief away.

There on his plate beside the door

You'll see untouched his mornin’ meal.

I never understood before

That dogs share every hurt you feel.

We've got the pride o’ service fine

As consolation for the blow;

We know by many a written line

He went the way he wished to go.

We know that God an’ Country found

Our boy a servant brave an’ true —

But Pete must sadly walk around

An’ miss the master that he knew.

The mother's bearing up as well

As such a noble mother would;

The hurt I feel I need n't tell —

I guess by all it's understood.

But Pete — his dog — that used to wait

Each night to hear his cheery call,

An’ romped about him at the gate,

Has felt the blow the worst of all.