Notice: This is not mine, and unfortunately never will be. *sighs* My dad's
boss wrote this for his daughter and then my dad asked him to email it to
me, and I think it's so good I just have to share it! Enjoy!
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From Tragedy of Hamlet, a Great Dane
To pee or not to pee, that is the question.
Whether 'tis kindlier to the nose to sniff
the stings and roses of a neighbor's garden
or to put paws to a sea of pansies
and by uprooting, end them. To sleep, to sleep
some more, and by said sleep to bid adieu
to itching and the thousand ticks and fleas
that flesh is air to - 'tis a hibernation
devoutly to be sniffed. To sigh, to snort,
to sleep, perchance to dream - and then a belly rub.
For in that sleep of peace what dreams may come,
when we have snuffled of this fecal coil
must give our paws to twitch
the symphony of a dog's life.
For who would bear the hiss and scorn of cats,
the master's wrong, the proud dog's contumely,
the pangs of puppy love, dinner's delay,
the unheated dog house, and the baths
that patience irritates the worthy takes,
when he himself might his toilet make
with a quick scratch? Who would collars bear
and pant and sweat under a heavy coat,
but that the call of something in the yard
the undiscovered country from whose bourn
all travelers return and dazzle the nose
and make us first to savor the smells we have
then to fly to others we know not of?
Thus olfaction does make canines of us all
and thus the native moue of resolution
is prickly opened with tongue on bed of teeth
and follies of go fetch or roll over
our lupine enterprises turn awry
and lose the name of action.
-by Mike Smith
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From Tragedy of Hamlet, a Great Dane
To pee or not to pee, that is the question.
Whether 'tis kindlier to the nose to sniff
the stings and roses of a neighbor's garden
or to put paws to a sea of pansies
and by uprooting, end them. To sleep, to sleep
some more, and by said sleep to bid adieu
to itching and the thousand ticks and fleas
that flesh is air to - 'tis a hibernation
devoutly to be sniffed. To sigh, to snort,
to sleep, perchance to dream - and then a belly rub.
For in that sleep of peace what dreams may come,
when we have snuffled of this fecal coil
must give our paws to twitch
the symphony of a dog's life.
For who would bear the hiss and scorn of cats,
the master's wrong, the proud dog's contumely,
the pangs of puppy love, dinner's delay,
the unheated dog house, and the baths
that patience irritates the worthy takes,
when he himself might his toilet make
with a quick scratch? Who would collars bear
and pant and sweat under a heavy coat,
but that the call of something in the yard
the undiscovered country from whose bourn
all travelers return and dazzle the nose
and make us first to savor the smells we have
then to fly to others we know not of?
Thus olfaction does make canines of us all
and thus the native moue of resolution
is prickly opened with tongue on bed of teeth
and follies of go fetch or roll over
our lupine enterprises turn awry
and lose the name of action.
-by Mike Smith
