If I Had Been A Little Dog

It Was Sunday Morning (one A.m.), A Not Unusual Time For Some Farmers, After A Late Saturday Night, To Have A Look Round Their Stock And Decide To Send For The Vet.

They Can't Find My House Now Because I Keep It Very Quiet Where I Live.

At Times It Seemed Unfair That I Should Be Paid For My Work; For Driving Out In The Early Morning With The Fields Glittering Under The First Pale Sunshine And The Wisps Of Mist Still Hanging On The High Tops.

I Could Do Terrible Things To People Who Dump Unwanted Animals By The Roadside.

There Was No Last Animal I Treated. When Young Farm Lads Started To Help Me Over The Gate Into A Field Or A Pigpen, To Make Sure The Old Fellow Wouldn't Fall, I Started To Consider Retiring.