Will You Walk a Puppy? by Will H Ogilvie

‘Will you walk a puppy?’ the Hunt enquiredBeing sportsmen, we did as the Hunt desiredAnd in early June there arrived a manWith an innocent bundle of black and tanA fat little foxhound, bred to the gameWith a rollicking eye and a league-long name,And he played with a cork on the string;And walking a puppy was ‘just the thing’But the days went by and the bundle grew,And broke the commandment and stole and slewAnd covered the lawn with a varied lootOf fowl and feather and bone and bootAnd we scratched in the garden a hundred holes,And wearied our bodies and damned our solesAs we chased him over the plots and sworeThere was ‘walking a puppy’ for us no more!If he’s half as good in a woodland rideAs he is in tucking young ducks insideAnd half as keen on the scent of a foxAs he is at finding my red silk socks,It is safe to bet when our hound goes backHe will make a name in the ducal pack,For he’ll empty a cover-of beef or brose,And he’ll stick to the line-if it’s hung with clothes!