Watching the Dance, of course. But earlier today, memory jogged by the poster who lost her old dog recently reminded me of the dog I had when a kid.
He was super-intellegent (every dog owner thinks so, as does every parent about their offspring). Much closer to my mother than to me.
But he may have lived a few years longer than his 13 years if she had been less attached to him, and fed him less. Much less.
Dogs are dumb beasts. They will literally eat until they die if given a chance. And this dog was much too well fed, tho fast as a greyhound when younger.
Below is a poem on The Power of the Dog, by master British rhymester Rudyard Kipling.
What I like about poem is it's apparent lack of sentiment - he blames himself for giving his heart to his dog, But behind the poet's anger you can feel the grief and love he feels for his departed pet.
The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
He was super-intellegent (every dog owner thinks so, as does every parent about their offspring). Much closer to my mother than to me.
But he may have lived a few years longer than his 13 years if she had been less attached to him, and fed him less. Much less.
Dogs are dumb beasts. They will literally eat until they die if given a chance. And this dog was much too well fed, tho fast as a greyhound when younger.
Below is a poem on The Power of the Dog, by master British rhymester Rudyard Kipling.
What I like about poem is it's apparent lack of sentiment - he blames himself for giving his heart to his dog, But behind the poet's anger you can feel the grief and love he feels for his departed pet.
The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
