Robert Frothingham

“SIX FEET

My little rough dog and I
Live a life that is rather rare.
We have so many good walks to take
And so few hard things to bear;
So much that gladdens and re-creates.
So little of wear and tear.

Sometimes it blows and rains,
But still the six feet ply:
No care at all to the following four
If the leading two know why.
'T is a pleasure to have six feet, we think.
My little rough dog and I.

And we travel all one way;
'T is a thing we should never do.
To reckon the two without the four
Or the four without the two.
It would not be right if any one tried,
Because it would not be true.

And who shall look up and say
That it ought not so to be,
Tho' the earth is Heaven enough for him,
Is it less than that to me?
For a little rough dog can make a joy
That enters eternity!
Anonymous”
― Robert Frothingham, Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham

“LITTLE LOST PUP
He was lost! — Not a shade of doubt of that;
For he never barked at a slinking cat.
But stood in the square where the wind blew raw,
With a drooping ear, and a trembling paw,
And a mournful look in his pleading eye.
And a plaintive sniff at the passer-by
That begged as plain as a tongue could sue, "
Oh, Mister, please may I follow you?"
A lorn, wee waif of a tawny brown
Adrift in the roar of a heedless town.
Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin
Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked inl

Well, he won my heart (for I set great store
On my own red Bute, who is here no more)
So I whistled clear, and he trotted up.
And who so glad as that small lost pup?

Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed,
And he fairly shouts when he hears my tread.
Then if things go wrong, as they sometimes do.
And the world is cold, and I'm feeling blue.
He asserts his right to assuage my woes
With a warm, red tongue and a nice, cold nose,
And a silky head on my arm or knee,
And a paw as soft as a paw can be.

When we rove the woods for a league about
He's as full of pranks as a school let out;
For he romps and frisks like a three-months colt.
And he runs me down like a thunder-bolt.
Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair
Is a gay little pup with his tail in air!
- Anonymous”
― Robert Frothingham, Songs of Dogs, an Anthology Selected and Arranged by Robert Frothingham. (1920) [Leather Bound]