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” Bulldog ” by Floyd Boudreaux
          ” Bulldog ” by Floyd Boudreaux
He may be a large dog-may be small.
He will fight one dog or fight ’em all.
He will give you all that he has to give.
It’s the only way he knows to live.

He has earned the respect of poor men and kings:
He has fought in the open, in pits, and in rings.
He has fought the wolverine, the bull, and the bear,
For his own life he has not a care.

He will not cower, he will not cry,
For to be called a “cur” he would rather die.
A cur and a fighter are not the same
A cur is a quitter, but a fighter is game.

We don’t force him to fight; he can quit any time,
But it’s not a bulldog that stands the line.
When men speak of Bulldogs, the words that fit
Are those like courage, stamina, and grit.

In the pit he is powerful, fierce, and wild,
But at home, he will sleep with the smallest child.
He knows not the meaning of a word called quit.
He lives on a chain, but he longs for the pit.

The blood of champions flows in his veins;
He can stand the heat; he can stand the pain.
If it comes to the scratch, he’ll make the run
When he hears his master cry “Aww, Son”.


Am citit multe articole scrise despre caini ori despre crescatori , insa este pentru prima data cand dau peste o poezie despre cainii pe care noi ii iubim , asa ca m-am gandit sa o impartasesc cu voi.

PS :  Daca unii colegi au nevoie de traducere ,voi traduce poezia
O noua serie de poezii , pe care as vrea sa le impartasesc cu voi

Dead Game

I wasn't bred for looks,
I was bred to bang,
I wasn't bred for size,
I was bred for the game,
I wasn't bred for color,
I was bred to be game,
My offspring is game,
And I expect the same.

- Albany Lou

Good Pit Dog

He is a pit bull, brindle and white,
A fast head dog with an even bite,
He can take his punishment and not mind it a bit,
For he'll always scratch and stay in the pit.
It takes him no time to finish the rat,
He stays with a badger, has no mercy for cats.
He's one of my best and he's game to the core,
He'll toe the scratch, I can ask no more.
He has no fear for whatever he faces,
Disposition is good and his looks are aces.
He's one of those dogs that money can't buy,
I'll keep him a lifetime, until he does die.
But before then he'll fight for me many a time,
Make me proud of his winnings, bring me many a dime.
He'll uphold the name of our pet dog, all right,
For he's not a show dog, but one that'll fight.
And that's what we want, dogs that are game,
Wherever you take them, they'll bring you no shame.
They need not to be handsome, nor good for the show,
But just good pit dogs, rarin' to go.

A keen dog, a lean dog, a wild dog and lone,
A rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on his own.
A bad dog, a mad dog, teasing running keep,
Howling under the moon, to keep wild souls from sleep.

He'll never be a house dog, sniffing smelly feet,
A sleek dog, a week dog, begging for his meat.
Not for him the warm heat, the fine filled bowl,
Closing door, wild ground, and dig and run and roll.

Not for him the other dogs, running by his side,
Some have run a little while, but all of them will hide.
He is still the lone trail, the tough trail, the best,
Whistling wind, wild stars, the hunger of the quest.

- Dawnrest


Today in the pit, I did meet my match,
But my legs are broken and I can't make the scratch.
Please pick me up now so I can fight another day,
But money and pride has got in the way.

You know I can't win as I let out a battle cry,
Looks like this pit is where I will die.
Look into my eyes did I not give my best?
But you knew that already when you did the game test.
This is for all the game bulldogs that never gave up,
Your masters betrayed you for fear of loosing buck.

Farewell to The Game

I have grown old in the game of life,
I will retire to the kennel, for I have fought my last fight.
But I have fought from Canada to the Mexico line,
And no dog has ever heard me whine.
When the fight was against me, it can never be said,
That smuggler backed off and hung his head.
Yes, I am proud of my record, I am proud of my name,
And those who have known me will say I was game.
But now I am old, I am feeble and grey,
My fighting days are over, I have changed my way.
I will take a long rest that I so badly need,
And in the comforts of the kennel, I will sow my seed.
So my son's may carry on the name which I bear,
For no dog can say but what I fought was fair.
But I've fought my last fight, I have heard my last gong.
I've done some good, I've done some wrong.
So now I bid you a kind goodnight,
From your old friend Smuggler, the bull that would fight.

Ode to Ratler

Ol' Rattler the pit bull was one helluva dog,
Watched the house like a hawk, took rides on my hog.
He never knew a muzzle or chain,
Behind a wood fence was his private domain.
He barked at strangers that came too near,
Others he watched, they had nothing to fear.
More than a guard dog, he was my friend,
But an ignorant neighbor brought his life to an end.
Fed him some poison meant for a rat,
Cops said, "there's nothing we can do about that".
Now I'm selling my home and leaving this town,
But I'll be back to find the one who brought Ratler down.

Big Blue comes in growling, he's thrashin' round wild;
not bred of Grand Champions, just taunted till riled.

Ol' Blackie sits there patient, tail wagging with glee,
cause he'd done some rollin' and known how it'll be.

Washed down and toweled; the time, it drew near.

Big Blue's looking vicious, he has fifteen pounds,
but black dog just sat there, staring him down.

When the moment came, both exploded out their corners,
and met in the middle, but an inch towards Blue's owner.

Blackie was quicker, but Blue had a bite,
that black dog took a beatin', near and inch of his life.

Fifteen minutes went buy, most thought it was done;
but a few in the crowd saw the table had spun.

Big Blue got winded and the black one, he knew;
caught Blue by the shoulder, his vigor renewed.

Blue quickly turned, cold fear in his eyes,
so back to their corners to give scratchin' a try.

Blue came in charging and easy to read,
when Black saw him comin', his tail doubled the speed.

Black took what he'd learned and held to it that night,
by twenty-three minutes, it was no longer a fight.

Ol' Blackie went home, one under his belt;
big Blue, well he went with the cards he was dealt.

That black dog proved game, the blue not so much;
like all of his kind, just overgrown mutts.

- Dawnrest

The Brindle Dog

There once lived an overgrown kid near our lot,
Who owned a large mongrel whose name that I forgot.
The boy was a bully, his dog was the same,
And they both used their size to play a mean game.

All the kids in the neighborhood feared this tough nut,
As the house dogs for blocks feared this over sized mutt.
Toy Poodles, Collies, or Terrier who were small,
Made no difference, the big cur could handle them all.

The pair soon were famous, their game they played well,
For they had every dog near the tracks cut to hell.
One day, a new family took a house down the street,
they owned a trim brindle dog with a white blaze and white feet.

His eyes were quite small, his muzzle looked strong,
His low carried tail was fine pointed, not long.
He carried himself with a confident air,
On the street he'd pass dogs as if they were not there.

A few telltale scars on his shoulders and head,
told a mute story better than if it was red.
Fifty pounds of spring steel, he was quick as a cat,
And he'd fight if he had to at the drop of a hat.

Then one day in spring down by kids hut,
The big bully came, and behind him his mutt.
The two dogs stood rigid and to my surprise,
The yellow cur was twice the brindle dog's size

The big dog moved in, but his jaws snapped on air,
The thing he had lunged at, well it just wasn't there.
A clever side step had avoided his jump,
Something clamped on his throat, he went down with a thump.

He tried to break loose, he was fighting in fear,
His head, it was pounding, couldn't see, couldn't heart.
His wind was cut off, he was beaten and through,
And the big kid astonished, he had enough too.

When they got Brindle off, Yellow got to his feet,
And with a tail between his legs, weakly went down the street.
Now I wonder if anyone reading this creed,
Could you tell me what was this brindle dog's breed?

- J.R. LeManquais
The Pit Bulldog

There's a mighty creature on the prowl,
They don't bark much and seldom growl.
Can crush a bone with the slam of it's mouth,
You can find them East, West, North and South.
When you face them off and let them go,
The fight will last until one can go no more.
Unless you have a cur, and there's a lot around,
A good dogman will put these in the ground.
No other dog can stand the pain,
But a good pit bull has his claim to fame.
Some stay in the corner and won't cross that line,
Because the mighty pit bull is one of a kind.
We must stand by our dogs, united as we all should know,
Because the future holds more matches and we all love a good show.
I'm a new comer and this is true,
But I'm into the dogs deep, just like the rest of you.
If we meet in the pit, let's all remain friends,
Because we're all pit bull lovers until the very damn end.

- Howard B.

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