Эндрю Бартон Патерсон (Andrew Barton Paterson)

A Dog’s Mistake

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide, 
He was just a wand’ring mongrel from the weary world outside; 
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair, 
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear. 
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got, 
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot; 
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain, 
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain. 

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief, 
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef, 
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right 
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night. 

’Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who’d stood his friend, 
To adopt a slang expression, ”went in off the deepest end”, 
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse 
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse. 

Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate: 
’Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate, 
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day, 
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, ”On your way.”

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