Luath night

our scottish friends Martha and Bailey make the excellent point that while humans celebrate Robert Burns, dogs should glory in the memory of his sheepdog Luath.

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face
Aye gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl.

from "The Twa Dogs"

Sam does no poetry, but i'm sure i can get him to sing a little and raise his paws for the bard of hounds... or the hound of the bard.