---

Edgar Guest - With Dog And Gun
Work rating: Low

Out in the woods with a dog an` gun
Is my idea of a real day`s fun.
`Tain`t the birds that I`m out to kill
That furnish me with the finest thrill,
`Cause I never worry or fret a lot,
Or curse my luck if I miss a shot.
There`s many a time, an` I don`t know why,
That I shoot too low or I aim too high,
An` all I can see is the distant whirr
Of a bird that`s gittin` back home to her--
Yep, gittin` back home at the end o` day,
An` I`m just as glad that he got away.

There`s a whole lot more in the woods o` fall
Than the birds you bag--if you think at all.
There`s colors o` gold an` red an` brown
As never were known in the busy town;
There`s room to breathe in the purest air
An` something worth looking at everywhere;
There`s the dog who`s leadin` you on an` on
To a patch o` cover where birds have gone,
An` standin` there, without move or change,
Till you give the sign that you`ve got the range.
That`s thrill enough for my blood, I say,
So why should I care if they get away?

Fact is, there are times that I`d ruther miss
Than to bring `em down, `cause I feel like this:
There`s a heap more joy in a living thing
Than a breast crushed in or a broken wing,
An` I can`t feel right, an` I never will,
When I look at a bird that I`ve dared to kill.
Oh, I`m jus` plumb happy to tramp about
An` follow my dog as he hunts `em out,
Jus` watchin` him point in his silent way
Where the Bob Whites are an` the partridge stay;
For the joy o` the great outdoors I`ve had,
So why should I care if my aim is bad?
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.