Life, 1921-07-28 · page 10 of 34
Life — July 28, 1921 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous poem by celebrated writer Dorothy Parker, illustrated with sketches of various dog poses and expressions. The poem is a mock-serious "letter" to the speaker's dog, addressing its character flaws with satirical affection. Parker critiques the dog's vanity, unfaithfulness, lack of intelligence, and self-centered behavior—comparing it mockingly to handsome actor Wallace Reid. The poem's humor lies in applying human moral judgment to typical dog behavior: the dog's tail "betrays" it, it causes nervousness in friends, and it embodies poor manners and morals. The concluding couplet reveals the satire's target: "That women always fall for" dogs like this one, suggesting human (particularly female) susceptibility to charm over substance. It's social commentary disguised as pet criticism.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
te. Fe, MY, DOG Yi js YG, orothy Parke Ly peg Hy > I OFTEN wonder why on earth You rate yourself so highly; A shameless parasite, from birth You've lived the life of Reilly. No claims to fame distinguish you; Your talents are not many; You're constantly unfaithful to Your better self—if any. Yet you believe, with faith profound, The world revolves about you; May I point out, it staggered ‘round For centuries without you? a Za bs In beauty, you're convinced you lead, While others only follow. You think you look like Wallace Reid, Or, at the least, Apollo. The fatal charms with which you're blest, You fancy, spell perfection; The notion, may I not suggest, Is open to correction? An alien streak your tail betrays; Your ears aren't what they would be; Your mother was—forgive the phrase— No better than she should be. 7 TY Yk Wo One can but feel your gaiety Ulli Z Gs ( Is somewhat over-hearty; You take it on yourself to be The life of every party. In bearing, while no doubt sincere, You're frankly, too informal. And mentally, I sometimes fear, You're slightly under normal. The least attention turns your brain, Repressions slip their tether; Pray spare your friends the nervous strain And pull yourself together! You take no thought for others’ good In all your daily dealings, I ask you, as a mother would, Where are your finer feelings? I think I've seldom run across A life so far from lawful; Your manners are a total loss, Your morals, something awful. Perhaps you'll ask, as many do, What I endure your thrall for? *Twas ever thus—it’s such as you That women always fall for. comicbooks.com