The Gun-Shy Bitch

THE GUN-SHY BITCH

The hunter passed through the gate,
the dog at his heels.
A pretty little female,
she trotted happily beside him.
When they reached the field,
she ranged ahead
seeking the scent in every tuft of grass.
When she froze on point with lifted foot,
he flushed the birds, and patted her head.

Again and again she covered ground
with anxious sniffs to find the game.
For the afternoon she worked the meadow
and searched the creek bottoms till finally,
he whistled her in to start the homeward climb.

At the barn the others stood
comparing birds and bragging over the kill.
When he approached with the weary dog,
they waited to see his prize.
"Why do you hunt with that dog?" one said.
"She works good," he replied.
"She finds quail or pheasant every time."
"You never bring them home," they jeered.

"The walk's as good, and my gun is heavy.
I really hate feathers and cleaning birds.
I like to hunt the gun-shy bitch."