"You can't tell me God would have Heaven
So a man couldn't mix with his friends;
That we're doomed to meet disappointment
When we come to the place the Trail ends.
That would be a low-grade sort of Heaven,
And I'd never regret a damned sin
If I mush to the Gates, white and pearly,
And they don't let my malamute in.
For I know it would never seem homelike,
No matter how golden the strand,
If I lost out that pal-loving feeling
Of a malamute's nose in my hand."
Regards