The Puppy

Puppy! Puppy! Whining quite
Through the hours of the night,
What exhausted mind or eye
Can name thy doubtful pedigree?

In what distant land or isle
Grew the file of thine smile?
Where and when did it transpire,
These the questions I inquire?

And whose action, & whose parts
Produced the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What bred hands? & what bred feet?

What the sire? What the dame,
She whose oven is to blame?
Would a vet bill in my grasp
Offer answers to be clasped?

When thou, pup, wast born with peers
And nursed the bitch through whimpered tears,
Did it take thee long to flee
And then arrive upon my knee?

Puppy! Puppy! Whining quite
Through the hours of the night,
My exhausted mind and eye
Can't name thy doubtful pedigree.

by R.C. Neighbors

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As a young cowboy, R.C. Neighbors fell in love with a farm girl in Oklahoma. He won her hand and her heart by bidding on her basket at auction, and they left for their honeymoon in a surrey with the fringe on top, somehow ending up in the strange land of Texas. It's hot there, like pits of hell hot. The people name things after George Bush. And the state doesn't even have a Broadway musical named after it. Soon, R.C. hopes to gain his Ph.D. and leave to parts unknown. Maybe somewhere with winter.