Dave Bonta's little poem works like a joke with a payoff. A stone dog, probably a garden statue, is frozen in the pose of a pointer, the hunting dog that stands rigid to show where game is hiding. For all the statue's patience, it never finds anything. Then the speaker tells us that once, a real pheasant turned up exactly where the dog seemed to point.
The first line, "Persistence pays," sounds like a proverb, and the poem plays with it. Who is being persistent? The stone dog, which has pointed at the same spot for ages, and perhaps the speaker too, who kept looking until the moment came. Either way, the reward is small and delightful rather than grand.
The speaker seems amused and a little amazed, as if the statue had finally been proved right. The mood is quiet, wry, and gently surprised, the pleasure of noticing a coincidence that feels like it was meant to be.