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TO PUFFLES.
OH Puffles, matted and hirsute,
Thou more than dog, thou less than brute
Thou foe to cat, and rat, and bird,
Thou friend of man, thou beast absurd,
Thou dearest torment, genial curse,
That try'st my temper and my purse—
With what exulting headlong pace
Thou dost the mocking sparrow chase,
And then careering back again
Dost fill the street with yelping strain;
Or mud-bedraggled, leapest up
Upon my coat, exuberant pup!
While women fly and wheelmen curse,
And children crying, cling to nurse.
Thy ropy locks, thy dangling ears
Excite the host of prowling curs:
They, jealous of thy charms, combine
To wage on thee the war canine:
Thou fighting only when thou must
Dost roll the mongrels in the dust,
Then, clement as a dog of breed,
Leavest them peaceably to bleed.
And yet, the foe of all thy kind,
Thou hast a very gentle mind,
Though apt to fiercely bark like mad
At some innocuous Undergrad—
Who holds the Bursar's dog to be
The Bursar's demon worse than he.
Ah Puffles, dear detested friend,
Vices, and virtues, mingled blend.
I hate thee—yet I love thee more,
A four-legged angel, and a bore.
Wallace, M. (1900). Memories of some Oxford pets by their friends. Oxford: B. H. Blackwell. pp. 68-69.
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