TALE OF A DACKEL
"The sausage hound! The sausage hound!"
The children shout with glee.
As with my pet I saunter forth
to view the scenery.
"Where did you get the funny dog?"
They ask with puzzled air,
"Is he one of that German kind?"
The curiouser dare.
"This is the Baron v Houghton," I
"And though at times he may look ratzi,
He was born right here, and he's not a Nazi!"
When speaking of the canine species
My friends go into raptures keen
And boast of prowess in the hunt
And trophies won in field and stream.
"Oh pardon us, Miss B." they say,
"Are you of the sporting set?"
Eager, I take the gauntlet up,
"Ah yes....a Dachshund is my pet."
A blankish stare, a furrow brow
And then, as though they'd made a find,
They laugh and say "Oh, NOW I know!.....
The Born-Under-A-Bureau kind!"
"Dog and a half," is sometimes said
When I point to streamlines classy,
Or indicate his ram-like nose
And praise his low-slung chassis.
How can I make them feel the times
He fills my heart with swift delights,
His foolish grin that welcomes me,
The fun and rompings he invites?
Ah, well, it doesn't really matter -
By me he'll always be adored,
And comments buzzing 'round his head,
I note, leave him polite but bored.
by Kathleen Briggs
for the American Dachshund magazine, March, 1951
Early 1900s postcard, source unknown.
Read more Dachshund Poetry