The sporting dogs are up tonight. Mine is not purebred -- not showable.
He's the boy's best friend,
But what do you do when boys become men?
When he was a pup he was the pick of the litter,
He was half pointer and half Irish setter,
But all bird dog! He'd flush a grasshopper
And point a daddy cardinal or an old candy wrapper,
But that was OK for a boy of nine:
The boy named him "Lucky" and liked him just fine.
He had a new friend.
When Lucky was seven it was all curves and curls
And what's a dog do when his boy discovers girls?
There's still some Sundays, and summertime's something
For a boy and a dog and "Let's go huntin'!"
Still the boy's best friend.
When Lucky was nine, his boy was in school,
And it's "No Dogs Permitted" there -- that's the rule.
And when he was home there were friends and study
And not much time for his old best buddy,
Who missed his old friend.
Now Lucky's fourteen, and the old bones creak,
And his friend's a Marine, but he's home for the week,
and they're out in the pasture, and he's young again,
and he'll point up a bobwhite for his old best friend:
Still the boy's best friend.
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Thanks for posting 
