There once lived an overgrown kid near our lot,
Who owned a large mongrel, whose name Iīve forgot.
The boy was a bully, his dog was the same,
And they both used their size to play a mean game.
All the kids in the neighbourhood feared this tough nut,
As the house-dogs for blocks, feared his oversized mutt.
Toy poodles or collies or terrier small,
Made no difference, the big cur could handle them all.
The pair soon were famous, their game they played well,
For they had every dog near the tracks cut to hell.
One day a new family took the house down the street,
They owned a trim brindle dog, with white blaze and white feet.
His eyes were quite small, his muzzle looked strong,
His low carried tail was fine, pointed, not long.
He carried him self with a confident air,
On the street heīd pas dogs as if they werenīt there.
A few telltale scars on his shoulders and head,
Told a mute story, better than if it was read.
Fifty pounds of spring steel, he was quick as a cat,
And heīd fight if he had to, at a drop of a hat.
Then one day in Spring Down, by the kids hut,
The big bully came, and behind him his mutt.
The two dogs stood rigid, and to my surprise,
The yellow dog was twice the brindle dogs size.
The big dog moved in, but his jaws snapped on air,
The thing he had lunged at, well it just wasnīt there.
A clever sidestep had avoided his jump,
Something clamped on his throat, he went down with a thump.
He tried to break loose, he was fighting in fear,
His head it was pounding, couldnīt see, couldnīt hear,
His wind was cut off, he was beaten through and through,
And the big kid, astounded, felt heīd had enough too.
They got "Brindle" off, "Yellow" got to his feet,
And with tail between legs, weakly went down the street.
Now I wonder if anyone reading this screed,
Could tell me just what was the brindle dogs breed.
