For many years, Frodo lived in fear,
Of Farmer Maggot's hounds.
Their howls and growls at strangers near,
Nightmare worse, than fog on barrow-downs.
Ol' Grip, he was lean and mean,
With coat of shaggy white.
Fang was smaller, fur of cream,
When he snarled, his teeth gleamed bright.
Now Wolf, the largest of them all,
Smooth hide was midnight black.
From mushroom patch, to cornfield tall,
These three, would drive thieves back.
Frodo stood trembling in the lane,
While the dogs ran about,
But Farmer Maggot, speaking plain,
Said 'down dogs' with a shout.
Into the farmhouse kitchen they went,
For mushrooms, beer and scones.
Dogs in front of the hearth sent,
Content to gnaw old bones.