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Nov. 17th, 2006 11:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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indeedsir_backup
Epitaph to a Dog
NEAR this spot
Are deposited the Remains
of one
Who possessed Beauty
Without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over Human Ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
"Boatswain," a Dog
Who was born at Newfoundland,
May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey
Nov. 18, 1808.
-Lord Byron
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 11:46 pm (UTC)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 ---
no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 11:47 pm (UTC)This one is quite pertinent
Date: 2006-11-17 11:55 pm (UTC)the clouds; my other ears that hear above
the winds. He is the part of me that can
reach out into the sea.
He has told me a thousand times over that
I am his reason for being: by the way he
rests against my leg; by the way he thumps
his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he
shows his hurt when I leave without taking him.
(I think it makes him sick with worry when he
is not along to care for me.)
When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive.
When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile.
When I am happy, he is joy unbounded.
When I am a fool, he ignores it.
When I succeed, he brags.
Without him, I am only another man. With him,
I am all-powerful.
He is loyalty itself.
He has taught me the meaning of devotion.
With him, I know a secret comfort and a
private peace. He has brought me understanding
where before I was ignorant.
His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.
His presence by my side is protection against
my fears of dark and unknown things.
He has promised to wait for me...
henever...wherever--in case I need him.
And I expect I will--as I always have.
He is just my dog.
Re: This one is quite pertinent
Date: 2006-11-18 12:06 am (UTC)Re: This one is quite pertinent
Date: 2006-11-18 12:14 am (UTC)The real question to me is would Bertie have gone to walk the dogs, and if he were separated from Jeeves because of the political implications of dog-walking, what would happen?
Re: This one is quite pertinent
Date: 2006-11-18 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 11:58 pm (UTC)"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 ---
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:09 am (UTC)Re: On Fidelity, Wordsworth
Date: 2006-11-18 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:18 am (UTC)mew?
Date: 2006-11-18 12:04 am (UTC)How many mice and rats hast in thy days
Destroy'd? -- How many tit bits stolen? Gaze
With those bright languid segments green, and prick
Those velvet ears -- but pr'ythee do not stick
Thy latent talons in me -- and upraise
Thy gentle mew -- and tell me all thy frays
Of fish and mice, and rats and tender chick.
Nay, look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists --
For all the wheezy asthma, -- and for all
Thy tail's tip is nick'd off -- and though the fists
Of many a maid have given thee many a maul,
Still is that fur as soft as when the lists
In youth thou enter'dst on glass-bottled wall.
-- John Keats
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:21 am (UTC)Wodehouse did write about cats, but he only mentioned it once and this was very fleeting. This gives rise to significant questions about what Wodehouse is *not* saying about cats, I feel.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:59 am (UTC)LATIN SAYING SAID IT BEST: LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.
Date: 2006-11-18 12:18 am (UTC)~Charles de Gaulle
Love me, love my dog.
~Latin Saying
My favorite story is about the monk who said to a Master, "Has a dog Buddha-nature too?" The Master replied, "Wuff"—which is what the dog himself would have said.
~Gilbert Highet
When I play with my cat, who knows if I am not a pastime to her more than she is to me.
~Montaigne
Life with a cat is in certain ways a one-sided proposition. Cats are not educable; humans are. Moreover, cats know this. If you're not willing to humor them, you might as well stick to dogs.
~Terry Teachout
Re: LATIN SAYING SAID IT BEST: LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.
Date: 2006-11-18 12:22 am (UTC)Thanks for this!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:19 am (UTC)And evening comes at last;
It brings me a dream of a once happy day,
Of merry forms I’ve seen
Upon the village green,
Sporting with my old dog Tray.
Chorus: Old dog Tray’s ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,
He’s gentle, he is kind;
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.
The forms I call’d my own
Have vanished one by one,
The lov’d ones, the dear ones have all passed away;
Their happy smiles have flown,
Their gentle voices gone;
I’ve nothing left but old dog Tray.
(Chorus)
When thoughts recall the past
His eyes are on me cast;
I know that he feels what my breaking heart would say:
Although he cannot speak I’ll vainly, vainly seek
A better friend than old dog Tray.
--Stephen Foster
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:24 am (UTC)When we got home, it was almost dark.
Our neighbor waited on the walk.
"I'm sorry, I have bad news," he said.
"Your cat, the gray-black one, is dead.
I found him by the garage an hour ago."
"Thank you," I said, "for letting us know."
We dug a hole in the flower bed
With lilac bushes overhead,
Where this cat loved to lie in spring
And roll in dirt and eat the green
Delicious first spring bud,
And laid him down and covered him up,
Wrapped in a piece of tablecloth,
Our good old cat laid in the earth.
We quickly turned and went inside
The empty house and sat and cried
Softly in the dark some tears
For that familiar voice, that fur,
That soft weight missing from our laps,
That we had loved too well perhaps
And mourned from weakness of the heart.
A childish weakness, to regard
An animal whose life is brief
With such affection and such grief.
If such is weakness, so it be.
This modest elegy
Is only meant to note the death
Of one cat so we won't forget
His face, his name, his gift
Of cat affection while he lived,
The sweet shy nature
Of this graceful creature,
The simple pleasure of himself,
The memory of our cat, Ralph.
--Garrison Keillor
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:40 am (UTC)The Dogs Who Have Shared Our Lives
The dogs who've shared our lives.
In subtle ways they let us know
their spirit still survives.
Old habits still make us think
we hear a barking at the door.
Or step back when we drop
a tasty morsel on the floor.
Our feet still go around the place
the food dish used to be,
And, sometime, coming home at night,
we miss them terribly.
And although time may bring new friends
and a new food dish to fill,
That one place in our hearts
belongs to them...
and always will.
By Linda Barnes
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 02:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 02:08 am (UTC)These poems are making me cry, so here is a picture.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 06:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-19 05:08 am (UTC)For years we've had a little dog,
Last year we acquired a big dog;
He wasn't big when we got him,
He was littler than the dog we had.
We thought our little dog would love him,
Would help him to become a trig dog,
But the new little dog got bigger,
And the old little dog got mad.
Now the big dog loves the little dog,
But the little dog hates the big dog,
The little dog is eleven years old,
And the big dog only one;
The little dog calls him Schweinhund,
The little dog calls him Pig-dog,
She grumbles broken curses
As she dreams in the August sun.
The big dog's teeth are terrible,
But he wouldn't bite the little dog;
The little dog wants to grind his bones,
But the little dog has no teeth;
The big dog is acrobatic,
The little dog is a brittle dog;
She leaps to grip his jugular,
And passes underneath.
The big dog clings to the little dog
Like glue and cement and mortar;
The little dog is his own true love;
But the big dog is to her
Like a scarlet rag to a Longhorn,
Or a suitcase to a porter;
The day he sat on the hornet
I distinctly heard her purr.
Well, how can you blame the little dog,
Who was once the household darling?
He romps like a young Adonis,
She droops like an old mustache;
No wonder she steals his corner,
No wonder she comes out snarling,
No wonder she calls him Cochon
And even Espèce de vache.
Yet once I wanted a sandwich,
Either caviar or cucumber,
When the sun had not yet risen
And the moon had not yet sank;
As I tiptoed through the hallway
The big dog lay in slumber,
And the little dog slept by the big dog,
And her head was on his flank.
-Ogden Nash