From the Albuquerque Morning Journal, November 8, 1914. By Rutherford McLeod.
I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog and lone,
I’m a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own,
I’m a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep,
I love to sit and bay the moon to keep fat souls from sleep.
I’ll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet,
A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat,
Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate,
But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick and hate.
Not for me the other dogs running by my side,
Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide,
O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail, the best,
Wide wind and wild stars, and the hunger of the quest!