The fast riding made the cart bounce and pitch
They took a sharp turn and fell in a ditch
Then there were goblins swarming around them
And quick goblin hands gagged them and bound them.
They gathered the supplies that fell from the cart
To Fitzbratchet's surprise he too would depart.


They carried the dog away to their lair
For the worst fate, he began to prepare.
When they got home they demanded he dance
The little dog had no choice but to prance.
They thought that his moves were simply delightful
Their loud applause proved that they weren't all frightful.


They loved the dog and they gave him a sword
And made him member of their goblin horde.
They sent the dog out to sack and to pillage
And directed him to a near-by village.
What luck! -He was well, and free on his way
He'd make Ingle-Dell before the next day.


A passing pigeon landed on his head
He brushed it off and then came two instead
He barked and he yelped and he waved his arms
Pigeons continued arriving in swarms
He was soon covered from head down to toe
- then neatly smothered in white pigeon snow


Fitz attempted in vain to remain calm -
his patience exploded much like a bomb
The number that held him was hard to believe
He ran and he yelped but the birds did not leave
He dashed and he darted and soon lost his way
The path he departed, so far did he stray


He ran past some people out picking fruit
They thought him a ghost, in his pale white suit
They pelted him with fruit they collected
And his bird problem was soon corrected.
After the birds flew, they kept right on throwing
Before more welts grew, he ran without slowing