Table Scraps Have a Value All Their Own

[Sitaram]

There once was a dog
With white and brown ears
And each of us called him
Our own special name:

Some, "Spot",
Me, "Pooch",
Many, "Dog",
Most didn't.

And he barked in the night.
And he slept in the day.
That was his way.
And all were annoyed.

He chased the mailman
And bit the trashman,
And would have the milkman,
(the milkman was a very good runner).

But he licked my hand
And I loved him,
Because I fed him table scraps
And he licked my hand.

And it was a very profitable relationship.

Until one day,
He wasn't there.
He was gone.

He was no one's dog.
He was anybody's dog in particular.
And each of us called him
Our own special name:

Some, "Spot",
Me, "Pooch",
Many, "Dog",
Most didn't.

And he licked my hand,
But I loved him.



- Sitaram

(circa 1966)