MEMORIES

“Not the least hard thing to bear when
they go from us, these quiet friends,
is that they carry away with them so
many years of our lives. Yet, if they
find warmth therein, who would
begrudge them those years that they
have so guarded?
And whatever they take,
be sure they have deserved.”

— John Galsworthy —

FOUR FEET

I have done mostly what men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can’t forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.

Day after day, the whole day through–
Wherever my road inclined–
Four-Feet said, ‘I am coming with you!’
And trotted along behind.

Now I must go by some other round–
Which I shall never find–
Some where that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

— Rudyard Kipling —

MONUMENT TO A DOG

When some proud son of man returns to
earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by
birth, The sculptor’s art exhausts the
pomp of woe, And storied urns record who
rests below. When all is done, upon the
tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what
he should have been.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest
friend, The first to welcome, foremost
to defend, Whose honest heart is still
his master’s own, Who labors, fights,
lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth
– While man, vain insect! hopes to be
forgiven, And claims himself a sole
exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt
by power–
Who knows thee well must quit thee with
disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all
a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy
words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush
for shame. Ye, who perchance behold this
simple urn, Pass on–it honors none you
wish to mourn. To mark a friend’s remains
these stones arise;
I never knew but one–and here he lies.

— Lord Byron —
Inscription on the monument of his
Newfoundland dog, 1808

Plus je vois l’homme,
plus j’aimie mon chien

— Pascal —

A DOG’S PRAYER

Treat me kindly , my beloved master,
for no heart in all the world is more
grateful for kindness than the loving
heart of me.

Do not break my spirit with a stick,
for although I should lick your hand between blows, your patience and
understanding will more quickly teach
me the things you would have be do.

Speak to me often, for your voice is
world’s sweetest music, as you must know
by the fierce wagging of my tail when your
footstep falls upon my waiting ear.

When it is cold and wet, please take me
inside, for I am now a domesticated animal,
no longer used to bitter elements.
And I ask no greater glory than the
privilege of sitting at your feet beside
the hearth. Though had you no home,
I would rather follow you through ice and
snow than rest upon the softest pillow in
the warmest home in the land, for you are
my god and I am your devoted worshipper.

Keep my pan filled with fresh water,
for although I should not reproach you
were it dry, I cannot tell you when I
suffer thirst. Feed me clean food so
that I may stay well to romp and play
and do your bidding, to walk by your
side, and stand ready willing and able
to protect you with my life should your
life be in danger.

And beloved master, should the Great Master
see fit to deprive me of my health or sight,
do not turn me away from you. Rather,
hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands
grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest…
and I will leave you knowing with the last
breath I draw, my fate was every safest
in your hands.

— Beth Norman Harris —

MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA