The Ottawa Free Trader

A Puzzled Puppy.

Yes, indeed, I'm in disgrace

Hard! If you were in my place

I do not think you'd doubt it.

What, tell you all about it

Well, there were some chickens--

Some frisky, flitting things--

Twas fun to see them go

Scurring with their outspread wings.

To chase the flying, feathered balls,

To me was better fun

Than dragging rags or slippers off,

Or blinking at the sun.

They say I was on "mischief" bent;

But, truly, sport was all I meant;

Yet, some way, now I cannot tell,

Almost before I knew it,

One chick lay tight 'twixt my paws,

The squeaks all running through it

"And so I'm tied up here."

I thought 'twas best of all

To hear those sounds from that soft ball

The next I knew it wouldn't squeak,

Even when I squeezed it close and hard;

And then I heard a stern voice speak:

"He's killed the fattest chicken in the yard."

And so I'm tied up here,

But, having time for meditation,

I've thought it wondrous queer

That on my sport fell swiftly degradation;

But, when upon my kind "for fun"

They bring distress and pain,

No hand is found to tie them fast

With stake and galling chain.

-Independent.