They sprung these on him suddenly when midway in the townRunt only smiled and polished off the ablest, white and brownFor Runt was with them every trick, with vigor and with vimA thousand piddlers more or less were all the same to him
So he was wetting merrily with hind legs kicking highWhen most were hoisting legs in bluff and piddling mighty dryThen on and on Runt sought new grounds, by piles of scrap and rust’Til every city dog went dry and only piddled dust
But ever on went noble Runt, as wet as any rillAnd all the champion city pups were peed to a standstillThen Runt did freehand piddling with fancy flirts and frillsLike “double drip” and “gimlet twist” and all those graceful things
And all the time this country dog did never wink nor grinBut piddled blithely out of town as he had piddled inThe city dogs a convention held to ask, “What did defeat us?”But no one ever put them wise that Runt had diabetes!
July 17, 2015