Bulldog Poems

How The Bulldog Got Its Face

When the Good Lord gave out faces to the dogs long ago,
He found, when he had issued them there was still one dog to go –

“Where’s this dog’s face?” He called aloud, “I know I must have made it.
There must be someone hereabouts who’s clumsily mislaid it.”

A shy young angel then stepped up, “Forgive me, Lord,” he said.
He stuttered and he stammered and he turned a little red-
“I never thought it was a face – it fell out of your bag.
So I thought you had discarded it as just a piece of rag.-
“So I promptly went and used it for so very many things,
Like polishing up the halos and waxing up the wings.

“It’s creased and crumpled as you see – in truth it’s a disgrace..
I don’t know how. my dearest Lord, you can use it for a face.
“I realize it’s all my fault, and there’s no one else to blame.
I trust you can forgive me Lord, My heart’s so full of shame.”

“Of course I have forgiven you, but here we’ve got a mess,
So I’ll make amends to this poor dog and him I’ll truly bless.
“He’ll be called an ‘English Bulldog’ that’s about the only place
Where the people are so silly as to love an ugly face.
But he’ll be kind and gentle and of courage he’ll be full –
As well as love and loyalty – the ugly, lovely Bull.”
And that is how, my children, in that long-gone year of grace
The dear old English Bulldog got his lovely, ugly face. . .


Why do we love our bullydogs so?
It seems very strange to so many, you know.
They maze at the wrinkled up face that seems “smashed.”
They whiff doggie odors and gas that’s been passed.
If some folks were honest, they’d shout out: “Alas!
You’re telling me truly, for this you paid cash?!”
Why do we love our bullydogs so?
Some call us weird and deranged “so-and-so’s.”
With stark frozen fear, they gaze at the teeth,
the massive broad shoulders and little fat feet.
They gasp at the sight of the jowls and then shriek:
“Someone please save me! Just throw him some meat!”
Why do we love our bullydogs so?
They say we’re obsessive fanatics, you know.
An accurate statement, but “Foul !” I protest.
You don’t understand why a bulldog’s the best!
It’s hard to explain; to that I’ll confess.
But sit down and listen, to what I profess.
Why do we love our bullydogs so?
And why does our love continue to grow?
I can’t speak for all, but I’ll say what I know.
To me it is simple, and easy to show:
From the short stumpy tail to the wrinkled-up nose,
they’re sensitive children, just dressed in dog’s clothes.