The dogs are singing.
The cottonwood cathedral carries their song.
The pure deep joy of the hunt bears them along.
Up ahead the rabbit prepares to steer them wrong.
A fine arrangement, a day in the country.
The song is changing.
Something in the music appeals to me.
A minor note creeps in and changes the key.
Now the dogs are
sounding lost and all at sea.
So much for winning, a day in the country.
I stand there listening.
Suddenly the rabbit comes into view.
He looks as if to say, "How do you do."
I swear he chuckles as he scurries through.
Top of the mornin'. A day in the country.
The dogs are sleepin'.
There in the back seat curled up in a ball.
That wiley rabbit left them feeling small.
But in their dreams they catch him after all.
A fine arrangement. A day in the country.
A fine arrangement. A day in the country.
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