“Gentlemen of the Jury: A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open and in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.” ------------------------------------ THE SOLDIER AND “JIM-DOG” By Margaret E. Sangster, Jr. He wasn’t, well, a fancy kind o’ dog— Not Jim! But, oh, I sorter couldn’t seem ter help A-lovin’ him. He always seemed ter understand, He’d rub his nose against my hand If I was feelin’ blue or sad, Or if my thoughts was pretty bad; An’ how he’d bark an’ frisk an’ play When I was gay! A soldier’s dog don’t have much time ter whine, Like little pets a-howlin’ at th’ moon. A soldier’s dog is bound ter learn, right soon, That war is war, an’ what a steady line Of men in khaki means. (What, dogs don’t know? You bet they do! Jim-dog, he had ter go Along th’ trenches oftentimes at night; He seemed ter sense it when there was a fight A-brewin’. Oh, I guess he knew, all right!) I was a soldier, an’ Jim-dog was _mine_. Ah, what’s th’ use? There never was another dog like him. Why, on th’ march I’d pause and call, “Hey, Jim!” An’ he’d be there, his head tipped on one side, A-lookin’ up at me with love an’ pride, His tail a-waggin’, an’ his ears raised high.... I wonder why my Jim-dog had ter die? He was a friend ter folks; he didn’t bite; He never snapped at no one in th’ night; He didn’t hate a soul; an’ he was _game_! An’ yet ... a spark o’light, a dartin’ flame Across th’ dark, a sneaky bit o’ lead, An’ he was ... dead!