Drifter's Lament For His Dog Poem by Francis Duggan

I sit here beholding
The wild flowers unfolding
On this pleasant morning in May
On hedgerows and bushes
The robins and thrushes
Are singing to welcome the day.

A red sun re-born
On this summer morn
And all of god's creatures feel glad
But I feel downhearted
Since my dog life departed
For he was the one friend I had.

My dog's name was skimper
He died of distemper
Death took him my four legged friend
When we were together
We loved each other
But all good times come to an end.

'Oh' death is a cruel thing
And great sorrow it bring
And it took my skimper's life away
And I look to tomorrow
With feelings of sorrow
Tomorrow for me it will be like today.

And well I remember
That day in December
That my beloved skimper lay dying
He not able to stand
And he licking my hand
And I like a baby there crying.

I buried him deep
Where the wild brown hare sleep
On the peat banks of old slumber bog
There I said goodbye
With a tear in my eye
To skimper my gallant black terrier dog.

Skimper died when six years old
And his story must be told
I bought him from Archibald Kane
Who lives in the valley
Of weeping black sally
Half a mile from the mountain of crane.

My Kerry blue skimper
Had spirit and temper
And I remember the day well
That he killed a fox
With the strength of an ox
In a sandpit at black river dell.

The dog fox was strong
But he did not last long
Against skimper the sturdy built black
He clung like a stoat
To the red fox's throat
And gave him no chance to fight back.

And I felt as proud
As a lark in the clouds
When I saw that the huge fox was dead
And skimper looked up at me
And he yapping in glee
As I patted his raven dark head.

In each town we passed through
And we passed a good few
A dog fight was sure to take place
Under his fighting power
All opponents did cower
And we never left a town in disgrace.

And I'll always remember
That day in september
At the big horse fair in Oakview Town
That he fought a bulldog
With the build of a hog
The holder of the dog fighting crown.

The brown bulldog whose name was scamp
Was dog fighting champ
And he was a hard one to beat
With jaws strong as a boar
He left many dog sore
And he never once tasted defeat.

He was hard as a rock
Came from good fighting stock
And to fighting his boss had him trained
Seven dogs he had killed
Seven canine hearts stilled
Many more he had crippled and maimed.

A crowd gathered about
To watch them fight it out
And what they saw brought them delight
On their hind legs they stood
As good fighting dogs should
And it sure was a blood thirsty fight.

The bulldog's powerful jaws gripped
And his razor teeth ripped
'The black dog's bleeding a young woman cried'
And I too felt like screaming
When the blood it came streaming
From a deep wound in poor skimper's side.

But skimper the brave black
Gallantly fought back
And he knocked the powerful bulldog down
Faster than you could beck
He had by the neck
The holder of the dog fighting crown.

The bulldog tried to break free
But he may as well be
Trying to escape from an iron bar cage
There was nothing he could do
To break the hold of the black kerry blue
Whose temper had boiled to a rage.

Then the owner of the bulldog spoke out
Saying 'twas a hard fought bout
And I never thought I'd see the day
That a kerry blue black
Would pin on his back
My bulldog and keep him at bay.

Then another said quick
Will someone bring a stick
Or the bulldog this world will depart
For if not that black brute
To speak the plain truth
Will tear the poor creature apart.

A young boy brought a stick
'The handle of a pick'
And they forced it between skimper's teeth
And that's how they broke
The grip sure to choke
The bulldog who never was beat.

The brown bulldog had failed
And skimper was hailed
As undisputed dog fighting champ
He had taken the crown
In famed Oakview Town
From the fearsome bulldog they called scamp.

And though those days are o'er
And skimper is no more
There is no dog can ever replace
My black kerry blue
So gallant and true
The pride of the whole canine race.

Here am I a roamer
A wandering loner
And I love the open highway
Like the gambler must gamble
So too must I ramble
There's no place that I wish to stay.

But I won't forget
Till the day of my death
The faithful and gallant black dog
That I buried deep
Where the wild brown hare sleep
On the peat banks of old slumber bog.


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