THIS is our loving, our dear old pet
Who gives us a beautiful ride through the day,
We love her too much to worry or fret,
But take for her supper the choicest of hay.
She needs no whip nor galling spur
To hasten her steps as on we go;
A loving word is enough for her,
And her pace is steady, if rather slow.
When breakfast is over she often comes—
If through the garden gate she can get;
And whether it's apples, or crusts, or crumbs,
It's all the same to our dear old pet.
When Jenny gets old we'll strive to give
The sweetest clover that we can get;
And I really think as long as we live,
We shall never forget our dear old pet.