There's dogs and then
there's dogs, says I;
loyal companions
in faith 'till they die;

Or free-ranging rovers
who take to the hills,
while you whistle and call
'till your temper is shrill.

Pedigreed blue-bloods
and certified mutts,
pointers and fetchers
and sniffers of butts.

Badge-totin' K-9's,
retrievers named Max,
lion hunting hound dogs
and sitters-on-laps.

Guide dogs and fat dogs
and Hollywood yappers.
Trash can marauders
and round-the-clock nappers.

Out West we've got cow dogs
and sheep dogs and heelers,
range-savvy herders and
sure 'nough show stealers.

They'll bring the herd to you,
or take 'em away,
or hunt up the brush
where the bunch-quitters lay.

They work off of whistles
or signals by hand,
and sure can save work
for both horses and man.

They're friend and companion,
a stockman's right arm.
Might be the best hand
on the ranch or the farm.

But all of that schooling
and work sense don't rate,
if you loose half the herd 'cause
that mutt's in the gate!

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