Some are fed candied tongues of larks
And talked to in baby prattle;
Walked in carriages through flowery parks
Gumming a baby rattle.
Some are attended at birth by a doc
And a nurse, antiseptically gowned;
My birth came to all as an ugly shock.
They hustled me off to the pound.
For some, it’s a top professional trainer,
And never the slightest hint of a cage;
I was the charge of a teenaged no-brainer
Lucky to work there for minimum wage.
Each day my prospects grew more bleak
Each day my ears drooped, more dejected;
They told me I was neither smart nor chic –
I’d be the last to be selected.
But one day a miracle ttranspired –
My master chose me for a friend.
He said, “I’ve finally grown tired
Of those pretentious pups of the Old North End.
