“Old dog Tray was a good old dog,”
Dad used to say.
“He was faithful all the day,
But at night, he was off for the bog.”
“Yep! Old dog Tray was a good old dog,
It was his friends that got him killed.”
“For himself he was strong willed,
But they operated along the lines of that frog.”
“They couldn't help it,”
Dad would reiterate,
“Their background wasn't too great,
They weren't trained, didn't know when to sit.”
Oh yes, I remember it well,
How I hated for Dad to start,
On Old dog tray and his friend's part,
In how and why he fell.
“The lines in the good book stays.”
Dad would go on with his rambling,
He told it, true, while my mind he was scrambling,
“Bad association spoils useful ways.”
“Now you know about anything spoiled?”
Dad was on a roll,
“Some things can be in a stinky bowl,
“No matter how well it is oiled.”
Dad's advice was a bitter pill to swallow,
But I must admit it did serve me
Certainly set me free,
From the vain and the shallow.
