Summer is amazing. The weather is great, the days are long, and you can go outside and play. Shakespeare thinks his love is even better though: summer can be too hot and always comes to an end, but his love is eternal.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
While rawhide bones are delicious, they eventually melt away as they are chewed or are taken away, but dogs can always play.
Shall I compare play to a rawhide bone?
It is more lively and more vivacious:
Rough bites do erode what good tricks have sown,
And rawhide’s end comes quick if tenacious;
Sometimes it’s too abruptly swiped away,
And often is it stored too high above;
And every taste from taste often decay,
By spit or brother’s thieving push and shove;
But playtime’s active spirit shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fun it brings;
Nor shall Gut brag it digest in his shade,
When off the leash you get to spread your wings:
So long as dogs can run or snouts can smell,
So long lives this, and this makes paws propel.