A recent alteration in coursing rules now permits that racing dogs may be "doped" with alcohol.
I'm only just a common racing dog, Simple in habit, and my diet's plain. I have never had a longing for the grog That some men seem to need, more vim to gain. And I have heard it said of such a one, Who in his swilling emulates the hogs: "He's boozing day and night: he's getting done. Poor man," they say: "he's going to the dogs." But now 'tis threatened that a dog should win A newer culture and a swifter pace By taking to the whisky and the gin, That he may wax more reckless in the race. And we, who hitherto have been content With just a lap of water and a rub, Will soon enough contract that human bent Of knocking off and going to the pub. And then, who knows? Some badly balanced pup, Weak-willed, and too intent on hectic joys, Will learn too soon the way to liquor up And have a jolly evening with the boys. And we shall say of such a one, in blame: "It's quite all right to have one new and then; But he has overdone this drinking game. Poor dog," we'll say: "He's going to the men."
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003-06|