WARLOCK, by Gordon Stables [Poem]

The author once wrote the following lines in answer to a Highland friend, who enquired through the medium of a well-known journal, if he knew the Aberdeen terrier. The verses are truly descriptive of this brave breed of dog; whether they possess any other merit or not is very little matter.

I ken the Terrier o’ the North,

I ken the towsy tyke;

Ye’ll search frae Tweed to Sussex shore,

But never find his like.

For pluck and pith, and jaws and teeth,

And hair like heather cowes (stems);

Wi’ body lang and low, and strang,

At hame on cairns (heaps of stone and rubbish) and knowes.

He’ll face a foumart (polecat), draw a brock (badger),

Kill rats and whitterits (weasels) by the score;

He’ll bang tod-lowrie (the fox) frae his hole,

Or fight him at his door.

He’ll range for days and ne’er be tired,

O’er mountain, moor, or fell;

Fair-play, I think, the dear wee chap

Would fecht the de’il himsel’.

And yet beneath his rugged coat,

A heart beats warm and true;

He’ll help to herd the sheep and kye,

And mind the lammies (young lambs) too.

Then see him at the ingle side,

Wi’ bairnies round him laughin’;

Was ever dog sae pleased as he,

Sae fond o’ fun and daffin? (Joking)

But gie’s your han’, my Hielan man,

In troth! we manna sever;

Then here’s to Scotia’s best o’ dogs,

Our towsy (rough and unkempt in coat) tyke forever.