An old man and his dog were walking down this dirt
road with fences on both sides. They came to a gate
in the fence and looked in. It was nice and grassy
with woody areas, just what a huntin' dog and man
would like, but it had a sign saying "No Tresspassing,"
so they walked on.

They came to a beautiful gate with a person in white
robes standing before it. "Welcome to Heaven," he said.
The old man was happy and started in with his dog
following him. The gatekeeper stopped him.
"Dogs aren't allowed. I'm sorry but he can't come with you."

"What kind of Heaven won't allow dogs? If he
can't come in, then I will stay out with him.
He's been my faithful companion all his life,
I can't desert him now."

"Suit yourself, but I have to warn you, the Devil's
on this road, and he'll try to sweet talk you into
his area, he'll promise you anything, but the dog
can't go there either. If you won't leave this dog,
you'll spend Eternity on this road."

There was no way the old man was going to leave
his dog, so they walked on. They came to a run-down
fence with a gap in it--no gate--just a hole.
Another old man was inside. "S'cuse me sir, my dog
and I are getting mighty tired--mind if we come in
and sit in the shade for awhile?"

"Of course, there's some cold water under that
tree over there. Make yourselves comfortable."

"You're sure my dog can come in? The man down
the road said dogs weren't allowed anywhere."

"Would you come in if you had to leave the dog?"
Asked the latest gentleman.

"No, sir, that's why I didn't go to Heaven, he
said the dog couldn't come in. We'll be spending
Eternity on this road, and a glass of cold water
and some shade would be mighty fine right about now.
But I won't come in if my buddy here can't come too,
and that's final."

The man smiled a big smile and said,
"Welcome to Heaven."

"You mean this is HEAVEN? Dogs ARE allowed? How
come that fellow down the road said they weren't?"

"That was the Devil, and he gets all the people
who are willing to give up a life-long companion for
a comfortable place to stay. They soon find out their
mistake, but then it's too late. The dogs come here,
the fickle people stay there.

GOD wouldn't allow dogs to be banned from Heaven.
After all, HE created them to be man's companions
in life, why would he separate them in death?"

Contributed by Sue Farrell
Weimaraner Rescue
Tallahassee, Florida

                                                                     

A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty,
in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold
ground where the wintery winds blow, and the snow
drives fiercely, if only he may be near his
master's side.

He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer,
he will lick the sores and wounds that come in
encounters with the roughness of the world.
He gaurds the sleep of his pauper master
as if he were a prince.

When all other friends desert, he remains.
When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces,
he is as constant in his love as the sun in its
journey through the heavens. If misfortune drives
the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless
and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher
privilege than that of accompanying him to guard
against danger, to fight against his enemies.

And when the last scene of all comes, and death
takes the master in its embrace, and his body is
laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all
other friends pursue their way, there by the
gravesite will the noble dog be found, his head
between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert
watchfulness, faithful and true, even in death."

From a speech given by
Former Senator George Graham Vest
of Missouri.
Delivered in 1870 when he was
acting as a lawyer in a suit
against a man who had killed the
dog of his client.
He won the case.

                                                                     

Just this side of Heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends there, so that they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All of the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing, they miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His eyes are intent, his eager body quivers. Suddenly, he begins to run from the group. Flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. You have been spotted and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face, your hands caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life, but never absent from your heart.

THEN YOU CROSS RAINBOW BRIDGE TOGETHER.

Author Unknown

                                                                     

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--
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

Rudyard Kipling

                                                                     

Alexander Pope

                                                                     

Josh Billings

                                                                     

Christopher Morley

                                                                     

Charles de Gaulle

                                                                     

James Grover Thurber, 1894 - 1981

                                                                     

Will Rogers, 1879 - 1935

                                                                     

James Thurber

                                                                     

James Thurber

                                                                     

Mark Twain

                                                                     

Franz Kafka
Investigations of the Dog

                                                                     

Sigmund Freud

                                                                     

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.

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

                                                                     

At a time when St. Francis was staying in the town of Gubbio, something wonderful and worthy of lasting fame happened.

For there appeared in the territory of that city, a fearfully large and fierce wolf which was so rabid with hunger that it devoured not only animals, but even human beings. All the people in the town considered it such a geat scourge and terror--because it often came near the town--that they took weapons with them when they went into the country, as if they were going to war. But even with their weapons, they were not able to escape the sharp teeth and raging hunger of the wolf when they were so unfortunate as to meet it. Consequently, everyone in the town was so terrified that hardly anyone dared go outside the city gate.

But God wished to bring the holiness of St. Francis to the attention of those people.

For while the Saint was there at that time, he had pity on the people and decided to go out and meet the wolf. But on hearing this, the citizens said to him, "Look out, Brother Francis. Don't go outside the gate, because the wolf which has already devoured many people will certainly attack you and kill you!"

But St. Francis placed his hope in the Lord Jesus Christ, who is master of all creatures. Protected not by a shield or a helmet, but arming himself with the Sign of the Cross, he bravely went out of the town with his companion, putting all his faith in the Lord who makes those who believe in Him walk without any injury on an asp and a basilisk and trample not merely on a wolf but even on a lion and a dragon. So with his very great faith, St. Francis bravely went out to meet the wolf.

Some peasants accompanied him a little way, but soon they said to him: "We don't want to go any further because that wolf is very fierce and we might get hurt."

When he heard them say this, St. Francis answered: "Just stay here, but I am going on to where the wolf lives."

Then, in the sight of many people who had come out and climbed onto places to see this wonderful event, the fierce wolf came running with its mouth open towards St. Francis and his companion.

The Saint made the Sign of the Cross toward it. And the power of God, proceeding as much from himself as from his companion, checked the wolf and made it slow down and close its cruel mouth.

Then, calling to it, St. Francis said: "Come to me, Brother Wolf. In the name of Christ, I order you not to hurt me or anyone."

It is marvelous to relate that as soon as he had made the Sign of the Cross, the wolf closed its terrible jaws and stopped running, and as soon as he gave it that order, it lowered its head and lay down at the Saint's feet, as though it had become a lamb.

And St. Francis said to it as it lay in front of him: "Brother Wolf, you have done great harm in this region, and you have committed horrible crimes by destroying God's creatures without any mercy. You have been destroying not only irrational animals, but you even have the more detestable brazeness to kill and devour human beings made in the image of God. You therefore deserve to be put to death just like the worst robber and murderer. Consequently, everyone is right in crying out against you and complaining, and this whole town is your enemy. But, Brother Wolf, I want to make peace between you and them, so that they will not be harmed by you any more, and after they have forgiven you all your past crimes, neither men nor dogs will pursue you any more."

The wolf showed by moving its body and tail and ears and by nodding its head that it willingly accepted what the Saint had said, and would observe it.

So St. Francis spoke again: "Brother Wolf, since you are willing to make and keep this peace pact, I promise you that I will have the people of this town give you food every day as long as you live, so that you will never again suffer from hunger, for I know whatever evil you have been doing was done because of the urge of hunger. But, my Brother Wolf, since I am obtaining such a favor for you, I want you to promise me that you will never hurt any animal or man. Will you promise me that?"

The wolf gave a clear sign, by nodding its head, that it promised to do what the Saint asked.

And St. Francis said: "Brother Wolf, I want you to give me a pledge so that I can confidently believe what you promise."

And as St. Francis held out his hand to receive the pledge, the wolf also raised its front paw and meekly and gently put it in St. Francis' hand as a sign that it was giving its pledge.

Then St. Francis said: "Brother Wolf, I order you, in the name of Lord Jesus Christ, to come with me now, without fear, into the town to make this peace pact in the name of the Lord."

And the wolf immediately began to walk along beside St. Francis, just like a very gentle lamb. When the people saw this, they were greatly amazed, and the news spread quickly throughout the whole town, so that all of them, men as well as women, great and small, assembled on the market place, because St. Francis was there with the wolf.

So when a very large crowd had gathered, St. Francis gave them a wonderful sermon, saying among other things, that such calamities were permitted by God because of their sins, and how the consuming fire of Hell by which the damned have to be devoured for all eternity is much more dangerous than the raging of a wolf, which can kill nothing but the body, and how much more they should fear to be plunged into Hell, since one little animal could keep so great a crowd in such a state of terror and trembling.

"So dear people," he said, "come back to the Lord, and do fitting penance, and God will free you from the wolf in this world and from the devouring fire of Hell in the next world."

And having said that, he added: "Listen, dear people. Brother Wolf, who is standing here before you, has promised me and has given me a pledge that he will make peace with you and will never hurt you if you promise also to feed him every day. And I pledge myself as bondsman for Brother Wolf that he will faithfully keep this peace pact."

Then all the people who were assembled there promised in a loud voice to feed the wolf regularly.

And St. Francis said to the wolf before them all: "And you, Brother Wolf, do you promise to keep this pact, that is, not to hurt any animal or human being?"

The wolf knelt down and bowed its head, and by twisting its body and wagging its tail and ears, it clearly showed to everyone that it would keep the pact as it had promised.

And St. Francis said: "Brother Wolf, just as you gave me a pledge of this when we were outside the city gate, I want you to give me a pledge here before all these people that you will keep the pact and will never betray me for having pledged myself as your bondsman."

Then in the presence of all the people, the wolf raised its right paw and put it in St. Francis' hand as a pledge.

And the crowd was so filled with amazement and joy, out of devotion for the Saint as well as over the novelty of the miracle and over the peace pact between the wolf and the people, that they all shouted to the sky, praising and blessing the Lord Jesus Christ who had sent St. Francis to them, by whose merits they had been freed from such a fierce wolf and saved from such a terrible scourge and had recovered peace and quiet.

From that day, the wolf and the people kept the pact which St. Francis made. The wolf lived two years more, and it went from door to door for food. It hurt no one, and no one hurt it. The people fed it courteously. And it is a striking fact that not a single dog ever barked at it.

Then the wolf grew old and died. And the people were sorry, because whenever it went through the town, its peaceful kindness and patience reminded them of the virtues and holiness of St. Francis.

Praised by Our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

                                                                     

St. Francis of Assisi

                                                                     

Isaiah 11:6-9

                                                                     

Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.

When it's in your best interest, practice obedience.

Let others know when they've invaded your territory.

Take naps and stretch before rising.

Run, romp and play daily.

Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.

Never pretend to be something you're not.

If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.

When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.

Thrive on attention, and let people touch you.

Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

On hot days, drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree.

When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.

No matter how often you're scolded, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout...run right back and make friends.

Be loyal.

Delight in the simple joy of a long walk, fresh air, and new adventures.

                                                                     

1. My life is likely to last 10-15 years. Any separation from you will be painful for me. Remember that before you get me.

2. Give me time to understand what you want from me.

3. Place your trust in me. It is crucial to my well-being.

4. Don't be angry with me for long, and don't lock me up as punishment. You have your work, entertainment and friends. I only have you.

5. Talk to me sometimes. Even if I don't understand your words, I understand your voice.

6. Be aware that however you treat me, I'll never forget it.

7. Please don't hit me. I can't hit back, but i can bite and scratch, and I really don't want to do that. You always win that fight.

8. Before you scold me for being uncooperative, obstinate or lazy, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. I don't speak your language. Perhaps I'm not getting the right foods, or I've been out in the sun too long, or my heart is getting old and weak.

9. Take care of me when I get old. You will grow old too. You'll hope someone cares.

10. Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say, "I can't bear to watch," or "let it happen in my absence." Everything is easier for me if you are there. Remember, I love you.

                                                                     

The only survivor of a shipwreck washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions. But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky. The worst had happened; everything was lost. He was stung with grief and anger. "God, how could you do this to me!" he cried.

Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.

It is easy to get discouraged when things are going bad. But we shouldn't lose heart. Remember next time your little hut is burning to the ground - - it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.

Contributed by Kelly C. and Her dog Micah
Detroit, Michigan

                                                                     

We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree or an apple or any flowering shrub of the garden is an excellent place to bury a good dog.

Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer or gnawed at a flavorous bone or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder.

These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter. For if the dog be well-remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where the dog sleeps. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pastureland, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog and all one to you, and nothing is gained and nothing is lost --if memory lives.

But there is one best place to bury a dog. If you bury him in this spot, he will come to you when you call--come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again.

And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they shall not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.

From the Portland Oregonian, Sept. 11, 1925.
By Ben Hur Lampman

                                                                     

Hear our humble prayer, Oh God, for our friends the animals,
especially for ones who are suffering;
for any that are lost or deserted or frightened or hungry.

We entreat for them all thy mercy and pity.
For those who deal with them,
we ask a heart of compassion, gentle hands and kindly words.

Make us, ourselves, to be true friends to animals
and to show thy blessings to the merciful.

Albert Schweitzer

                                                                     

If you ever love an animal, there are three days in your life you will always remember . . .

The first is a day, blessed with happiness, when you bring home your young new friend. You may have spent weeks deciding on a breed. You may have asked numerous opinions of many vets, or done long research in finding a breeder. Or, perhaps in a fleeting moment, you may have just chosen that silly looking mutt in a shelter -- simply because something in its eyes reached your heart. But when you bring that chosen pet home, and watch it explore, and claim its special place in your hall or front room -- and when you feel it brush against you for the first time -- it instills a feeling of pure love you will carry with you through the many years to come.

The second day will occur eight or nine or ten years later. It will be a day like any other. Routine and unexceptional. But, for a surprising instant, you will look at your longtime friend and see age where you once saw youth. You will see slow deliberate steps where you once saw energy. And you will see sleep when you once saw activity. So you will begin to adjust your friend's diet -- and you may add a pill or two to her food. And you may feel a growing fear deep within yourself, which bodes of a coming emptiness. And you will feel this uneasy feeling, on and off, until the third day finally arrives.

And on this day -- if your friend and whatever higher being you believe in have not decided for you, then you will be faced with making a decision of your own -- on behalf of your lifelong friend, and with the guidance of your own deepest Spirit. But whichever way your friend eventually leaves you -- you will feel as lone as a single star in the dark night.

If you are wise, you will let the tears flow as freely and as often as they must. And if you are typical, you will find that not many in your circle of family or friends will be able to understand your grief, or comfort you.

But if you are true to the love of the pet you cherished through the many joy-filled years, you may find that a soul -- a bit smaller in size than your own -- seems to walk with you, at times, during the lonely days to come.

And at moments when you least expect anything out of the ordinary to happen, you may feel something brush against your leg -- very very lightly.

And looking down at the place where your dear, perhaps dearest, friend used to lie -- you will remember those three significant days. The memory will most likely to be painful, and leave an ache in your heart -- As time passes the ache will come and go as if it has a life of its own. You will both reject it and it, and it may confuse you. If you reject it, it will depress you. If you embrace it, it will deepen you. Either way, it will still be an ache.

But there will be, I assure you, a fourth day when -- along with the memory of your pet -- and piercing through the heaviness in your heart -- there will come a realization that belongs only to you. It will be as unique and strong as our relationship with each animal we have loved, and lost. This realization takes the form of a Living Love -- like the heavenly scent of a rose that remains after the petals have wilted, this Love will remain and grow -- and be there for us to remember. It is a love we have earned. It is the legacy our pets leave us when they go. And it is a gift we may keep with us as long as we live. It is a Love which is ours alone. And until we ourselves leave, perhaps to join our Beloved Pets -- it is a Love we will always possess.

By Martin Scot Kosins

                                                                     

I will never know what I did to deserve such an awful life full of abuse and neglect. My life had become so sad and lonely it was like living in an endless, dark tunnel. I remember looking up one day and seeing a bright light shining at the end of the tunnel. The light was so bright I thought that God must have sent an angel to finally end my suffering.

God did send an angel, he sent you. The bright light I had seen was your smiling face. You promised me that my days of neglect and abuse were over. My battered body and broken spirit hardly dared to believe it was true.

You opened your heart and your home and gave me more love and comfort and safety than I had ever known before. You gave me the softest bed my tired, aching bones had ever felt and more toys and attention than I had ever dreamed existed.

I no longer cringed when a hand was raised near me, because your hands had only kindness and treats to offer me. I no longer feared the sound of feet approaching, because your feet had never kicked me, they had only taken me on wonderful adventures to exciting new places.

Although "quantity" of time can be measured in days and weeks, there is no way to measure the "quality" of time. So there is no way to really measure just how deeply your love and devotion affected my life. But sometimes, even love & devotion and all the medical attention in the world can't heal a body that has been battered and broken for too long.

So please do not be sad that I am gone. You performed a miracle in what little time we had together. You made my spirits soar and helped my soul find peace and contentment. From the day I met you I never suffered again, not even at the end.

Just knowing that my memory would live in your heart forever gave me the strength to let go and find my way to Rainbow Bridge. So go forward from today with only happy memories of me in your heart and let them give you the strength to keep on lighting up sad, lost lives.

Remember I will live forever in your heart and in the stars up above and my star will shine brighter with every life that's touched by your love.

By Karen kmullin@mulberry.com
Brockville, ONTARIO, CANADA

                                                                     

DOG DAYS: Days of great heat. The Romans called the hottest weeks of the summer caniculares dies. Their theory was that the dog-star, rising with the sun, added to its heat and the dog days bore the combined heat of both. (July 3 through August 11)

SIRIUS: The brightest star in the firmament in the constellation of the big-dog, Alpha Canis Majoris

                                                                     

Harry S. Truman

                                                                     

John Wilkes
Epitaph of the lap-dog of Lady Frail

                                                                     

Axel Munthe

                                                                     

If you can start the day without caffeine,

If you can get going without pep pills,

If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,

If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,

If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,

If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,

If you can forgive a friend's lack of consideration,

If you can overlook it when those you love take it out on you when, through no fault of your own, something goes wrong,

If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,

If you can ignore a friend's limited education and never correct him,

If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,

If you can face the world without lies and deceit,

If you can conquer tension without medical help,

If you can relax without liquor,

If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,

If you can honestly say that deep in your heart you have no prejudice against creed or color, religion or politics,

THEN, my friend, you're almost as good as your dog!

                                                                     

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
My Danes were nestled, all snug in "MY" bed,
While visions of chewie toys danced in their heads.
I in my sweat pants and Dad in his sweater,
Had just settled down to read the Great Dane Reporter,
When up on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter!
Off to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the shutter and threw up the sash.
The moon on the crest of the new fallen snow
Gave a luster of midday to the objects below.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
With a sputter of ashes -- a flurry of soot,
He slid down the chimney with all of his loot.
My Danes stood there so regal and proud,
Guarding their home with barks oh so loud.
St. Nick showed no fear and called them by name,
He knew in his heart they were gentle and tame.
He brought out his list, checking it twice.
"Well, my beauties, all year you've been very nice.
I have in my bag toys and much more,
Just tell me what you pups really long for."
My Danes talked to each other -- much to my surprise
and turned to Santa with tears in their eyes,
"We have chewies and balls and ropes to be tugged,
We are pampered and coddled and petted and hugged.
But for Christmas, dear Santa, we have but one care,
that all dogs be loved as much as we are.
We want no dog beaten, whipped or chained,
No dog abandoned, abused or maimed.
We want all dogs, no matter what size,
to see love reflected in their master's eyes."
St. Nick stopped for a moment to gather his wits,
"I have nothing to stop humans from being such twits."
All dogs are so beautiful and are such a treasure,
Living only to be loved and give humans pleasure.
This lesson I will try to teach
Then maybe your wish will be within my reach."
St. Nick leaned over and kissed each beautiful head.
"Now you gentle giants, go off to bed. Think good thoughts and dream good dreams Of running and jumping and playing in streams."
St. Nick turned to me, his face wet with tears.
"Be proud of your babies, they are such dears."
In an instant St. Nick disappeared in a poof,
And I heard him chuckle as he ran on the roof.
He jumped in his sleigh and to his team gave a whistle,
and off he flew like the down on a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim as the drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to All and
To All Dogs a Good Life!"

                                                                     

Once I was a lonely dog,
Just looking for a home.
I had no place to go,
No one to call my own.
I wandered up and down the streets,
in rain in heat and snow.
I ate what ever I could find,
I was always on the go.
My skin would itch, my feet were sore,
My body ached with pain.
And no one stopped to give a pat
Or to gently say my name.
I never saw a loving glance,
I was always on the run.
For people thought that hurting me
was really lots of fun.
And then one day I heard a voice
So gentle, kind and sweet,
And arms so soft reached down to me
And took me off my feet.
"No one again will hurt you"
Was whispered in my ear.
"You'll have a home to call your own
where you will know no fear."
"You will be dry, you will be warm,
you'll have enough to eat
And rest assured that when you sleep,
your dreams will all be sweet."
I was afraid I must admit,
I've lived so long in fear.
I can't remember when I let
A human come so near.
And as she tended to my wounds
And bathed and brushed my fur
She told me 'bout the rescue group
And what it meant to her.
She said, "We are a circle,
A line that never ends.
And in the center there is you
protected by new friends."
"And all around you are
the ones that check the pounds,
And those that share their home
after you've been found."
"And all the other folk
are searching near and far.
To find the perfect home for you,
where you can be a star."
She said, "There is a family,
that's waiting patiently,
and pretty soon we'll find them,
just you wait and see."
"And then they'll join our circle
they'll help to make it grow,
so there'll be room for more like you,
who have no place to go."
I waited very patiently,
The days they came and went.
Today's the day I thought,
my family will be sent.
Then just when I began to think
It wasn't meant to be,
there were people standing there
just gazing down at me.
I knew them in a heart beat,
I could tell they felt it too.
They said, "We have been waiting
for a special dog like you."
Now every night I say a prayer
to all the gods that be.
"Thank you for the life I live
and all you've given me.
But most of all protect the dogs
in the pound and on the street.
And send a Rescue Person
to lift them off their feet."

Arlene Pace
September 18, 1998

                                                                     

The Story of a Lhasa Apso

It was an overcast and quite dreary mid-December Saturday in 1990. Although not as cold as a typical pre-Christmas day in East Tennessee, its primary feature was a cool, persistent, and uncomfortable rain. My wife and I had just returned home from a wedding in a near-by city. Little did we realize that a rather significant change was about to occur in our lives.

It began when Muffin, the more hyperactive and observant of our two dogs, began sniffing furiously at the inside of the front door. She then proceeded, in her own inimitable way, to work herself into a whirling frenzy. After observing her demeanor for a few seconds, we concluded that something of interest, at least to Muffin, was present on our front porch.

Upon opening the door, we found the most pitiful, bedraggled bundle of fur one could ever imagine. All we could tell for sure at that point was that the little creature was a dog, and that he was in very deep trouble.

As we stepped onto the porch, he wearily and with great effort raised his head. He slowly opened what had once, no doubt, been large and shining brown eyes, one now dull and unseeing, and the other matted with infection. His body was literally shrunken to skin and bones, covered with fur whose tangles and dirt spoke volumes about the elements and travails to which he had been exposed.

We brought a bowl of water, a cup of food, and a blanket, all of which he accepted with obvious and well-communicated appreciation. And we noticed that he had no collar.

Darkness was fast approaching, and the cold wind was picking up. There really was no decision to be made. We opened the door and invited him in. And as he slowly gathered his strength to stand and begin walking, we saw further evidence of his ordeal. One of his rear legs hung still and useless, as he limped on three legs, tail dragging, into our house and into our lives.

Who Might This Be?

We felt two distinctly opposite emotions as we led our little visitor inside. The first was concern for the very real possibility that he might not survive. The second, however, was the satisfaction of knowing that a pet owner somewhere might soon learn that his or her lost animal had been found.

But the first priority was the dog’s health. Although he continued to eat and drink with growing enthusiasm, an immediate trip to the veterinarian was in order.

The vet concluded that the little dog would likely recover. But he emphasized that our new friend had come to the very edge of perishing from the dehydration and near-starvation he had endured during a journey lasting many weeks. The fact that he had used his last depths of energy to come to a place where care and safety awaited was little short of miraculous.

The dog’s other ailments were serious as well. One eye, damaged severely by exposure to the weather, would never regain its sight. And X-rays revealed that he had apparently been hit by a car earlier in life, and his hip had required surgery. It was not likely, the vet concluded, that the dog would ever again walk on his crippled rear leg, as the necessary muscle did not appear to be present.

Our next priority was finding his owner, which we expected to be as simple as a call to the local animal shelter. To our surprise, no report was on file of such a dog being missing. We contacted every source we could think of, including veterinarian offices, the Humane Society, breeders, classified ads, and even the police department. There was no trace of a report.

We now realized that we had a new addition to our family. The little fellow had begun to ease his way into our hearts just as readily as he was eating his way through increasingly large quantities of dog food. The "iron-clad" resolve that our household’s dog population would never exceed two was quickly forgotten.

He now had a home, and he had the promise of recovery, so now he needed a name. We read off a long list of potential dog names, in hope that he might recognize the name from his former life. He reacted to none. We decided to call him "Moose," after a dog I’d had during my teenage years. And there seemed to be an element of strength in that name, which matched this little guy’s strength, courage, and tenacity.

We then turned our attention to his appearance. The groomer surely deserved combat pay for dealing with the tangle of dirty, matted, and damaged fur.

If Moose’s arrival on our front porch qualified as a miracle, then he soon proved that his reservoir of miracles was far from empty. Shortly after the veterinarian’s conclusion that Moose would never again walk on his lifeless rear leg, he suddenly proceeded to do precisely that.

He didn’t start on it slowly or gingerly, and he didn’t limp. He simply began walking on it full force, as though it had never had the slightest trace of a problem. He ran on it. He jumped on it. He stood on his hind legs to beg for treats. For the first time, he went up the stairs to the second story of our house. And he didn’t walk up the stairs… He ran at full speed.

Moose was now looking better, acting stronger, gaining weight, and beginning to acquire the first signs of an aura of self-assured happiness. He now carried his tail, erect and proud, over his back. We began to realize for the first time what a beautiful little dog he was. But as to what breed he might be, we hadn’t a clue.

And soon thereafter, someone knowledgeable in the intricacies of dog breeds exclaimed to us, "Why, what a pretty Lhasa Apso you have!"

Getting to Know Each Other

Dog tags jingled energetically from a collar in an adjoining room. Moose was waking up from his nap. Most dogs would have headed for the area of the house where our other two dogs were at play. But this was Moose, and we had quickly learned where he’d go after a nap. He’d head directly to find us.

We had been around dogs all our lives, but we had soon realized that Moose was quite unlike any dog we’d ever encountered. His most distinguishing and endearing characteristic was a powerful attraction to people, and a strong desire to be with them at all times. He had no problems in getting along with our other dogs. It was that he simply had no interest in them. He wanted, instead, to be around people. Even as we exercised on the treadmill, he’d try to climb on behind, ending up befuddled as to why the machine persisted in depositing him, bottom first, back onto the floor.

Yet it was something more than just wishing to be in the presence of people. He seemed to have an unusual ability to fathom when one of his human companions was sad, tired, or happy, and it was as though he could communicate sympathy or celebration in response. And as we learned more about the Lhasa Apso breed, we realized the ancestral origin of his strong companionship trait.

As we began to let him meander on a leash through the neighborhood, he met, made friends with, and got along famously with our neighbors, friends, and relatives of all ages. But older persons of 70-plus years elicited a particularly special response. After observing his joyous reaction to the arrival of my parents one day, we realized the likelihood that his previous owners were an older couple. Perhaps their passing had led to his long and grueling journey to our doorstep.

Moose’s Lhasa Apso heritage was also obvious in his skill as a watchdog. If his eyes were now less than perfect, he more than made up for it with a particularly acute sense of hearing. As soon as we’d head the car up the driveway, we could hear him begin his neighborhood-rattling bark inside the house.

His continually high energy level never ceased to astound us. But when he decided to sleep, it was as though a light switch had been flipped. He’d immediately fall asleep, with no transition whatsoever, and he wouldn’t move until he woke up. And when he did wake up, he’d immediately leap from deep slumber to full, joyful energy. His impatience with us, as we rubbed our eyes and attempted to awaken enough to face the day, was obvious.

A Taste for the Good Life

Moose’s sheer exuberance for life involved activities common to most dogs. He loved to play ball, and could do so long after his human friends were panting with exhaustion. He loved his walks through the neighborhood, and greeting his acquaintances. He enjoyed playing with his basketful of toys. And he’d sit on the deck with us for hours on end, at rest and content as the breeze blew through his fur.

But his love of one aspect of life was truly amazing in its intensity: I have never seen any living creature enjoy any activity to the degree that Moose enjoyed eating.

At least an hour before time for his meal, Moose would become ecstatic in anticipation. He’d dance. He’d jump on all fours. He’d howl, he’d bark, he’d talk, and he’d sing. He’d beg the clock--and us--to hasten matters along.

And when the magic hour arrived, it was usually hilarious to behold. The routine was supposed to begin with a human opening the pantry door, scooping Moose’s dog food from a large sack into a metal cup, and transferring it to his bowl. But if we weren’t careful at the pantry door, he’d slip inside and try to climb into the food sack. As we transferred the food in the metal cup, he’d lock his vision onto it, causing him to bang into us, bounce off the walls, and sometimes even fall into his food bowl.

And once the food was in his bowl, it was only a matter of seconds until every morsel was gone. He virtually inhaled it, in a motion reminiscent of a powerful vacuum cleaner. Afterward, he’d literally glow with satisfaction at the joy he’d just experienced. He’d then scour every inch of the carpet for several minutes, searching for any kernel of food that might have fallen aside during the transfer.

One day we’d carried groceries in from the car, leaving several bags on the kitchen floor. A neighbor distracted us for several minutes, and as we returned to the kitchen we heard strange sounds. Moose had chewed through a paper grocery bag, he’d eaten an entire loaf of bread from it, and he was now eyeing another bag in hope that it held another loaf. His trim little figure now resembled the shape of the bread loaf he’d just devoured!

Coping With the Shadows

Moose’s love of eating may well have stemmed from the weeks in which he was lost and had nearly starved, yet it seemed a genuinely positive and motivating force in his life. But a negative impact lingered from those lost weeks, and that was his strong fear of storms. If we flipped the television channel to a station which had gone off the air, he’d hear the rain-like sound of the static and become concerned. A strong clap of thunder could cause him to tremble for hours.

We were also concerned that, despite his energetic and robust demeanor, those weeks of ordeal might have caused damage which would later pose challenges to his health. These and other challenges did indeed arise. But it was his response to them that frequently left us speechless and grasping for an adequate explanation.

It began with the need for Moose to have surgery for bladder stones. The vet reminded us that Moose was no longer a young dog, and that the recovery period would be neither short nor free of pain. But when we brought him home, he immediately resumed his regular activities at full energy level, as though he were having a perfectly normal week.

A few months later, as my wife walked him through the neighborhood, a large dog spotted Moose and decided to attack. In the flash of an eye, the dog ran toward Moose at high speed, hitting him with full force, hurling him into the air, and knocking the leash out of my wife’s hand. Moose landed hard, and found himself unable to stand or walk. As my wife carried him home, and as we prepared for the emergency trip to the vet, he cried non-stop at the top of his lungs, the only time we ever knew him to do so.

Yet as we prepared to carry him to the car, he suddenly became silent. He stood, looked around, and, without limping, began walking away as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Then came the day that we noticed swelling in Moose’s body. As we drove him to the vet’s office, we realized that he was sicker than he’d been since his arrival.

The veterinarian called the following day with sombering news. The immediate cause of Moose’s illness was a serious case of pancreatitis, and the internal swelling caused by it was extending dangerously close to his heart. In addition, the X-rays had shown a large tumor growing in his chest. And, most serious of all, blood tests had uncovered a case of advanced leukemia, which we could expect to soon be fatal.

Many prayers were said in the following hours that this wonderful little dog might somehow be a part of our lives for a while longer. Yet logic indicated that his situation was without hope. I cringed as the telephone rang the next morning. I knew it would be the vet, but I wasn’t prepared for the news he conveyed.

Moose was recovering from the pancreatitis with dizzying speed. The swelling was nearly gone, he was feeling much better, and he could soon come home. The blood tests had been sent to another lab for verification, and it had been discovered that the original tests were in error: Moose’s blood cell count was normal, and there was no leukemia. And as for the tumor, the radiologist had concluded that it likely would grow so slowly as to not be a hindrance to a normal life span. Much later, X-rays would show that it never grew at all following its discovery.

But it was impossible to ignore the fact that our friend was getting older. The vision in his remaining eye gradually faded, to the point that he could make out only shadows and shapes. His once-so-acute sense of hearing was gone, and now only loud voices could be discerned. Instead of running up the stairs at full throttle, he now walked up them one step at a time. And, although Moose never exhibited discomfort or pain, the vet began mentioning spinal arthritis with increasing frequency.

But despite the decline of his body, it was apparent that the inner energy of his spirit had not diminished at all. There were times when he seemed able to fully overcome his infirmities, such as when he awoke in the morning, or at meal time, or when my mother would come for a visit. We grew even closer together. It was obvious that this little dog still enjoyed life, and that his zest for it remained strong.

And whatever force it was that seemed to heal and protect him continued unabated. I was preparing to herd all three dogs down the stairs during his final year, when one of the other dogs brushed against Moose, sending him tumbling. For what seemed like an eternity, he bounced off step after step, as I mentally planned an immediate trip to the vet’s office to deal with his injuries.

At the bottom of the stairs, he hit hard against a wall. He stood up and looked at himself and then at me. He shook himself off, and then proceeded, nonchalantly and none the worse for wear, toward the door to the yard.

A Final Journey

As the Spring of 1997 arrived, we somehow knew, and we sensed that Moose knew, that our days together were drawing to a close. One Sunday afternoon early in May, he began limping on one of his front legs. The next day, X-rays indicated to the vet that, rather than having a mere knee or shoulder problem, his skeletal structure was entering a state of collapse. "Horrible arthritic lesions" were now present on his spine.

This being Moose, we had expected his last days to hold at least one major surprise, but we were quite unprepared for what actually transpired. Somehow, in all respects other than his arthritis, Moose’s body clock seemed to suddenly roll back by at least three years. Both his eyes became bright and shining, and we were astounded to discover that the vision in his better eye had returned. Sitting several feet behind him one day, I spoke his name in soft tones, which he hadn’t been able to hear in many seasons. His ears perked up, and he turned around.

His fur acquired a soft and shiny luster, and he became almost radiant with a healthy glow. The vet was stunned to discover that a long-standing internal infection, which had seemed impervious to treatment, had suddenly disappeared. His level of alertness and mental energy became as high as it had been since we had known him. Our quality of communication and closeness became, I believe, as great as is possible for a dog and a human to achieve.

But his ability to stand and walk quickly deteriorated and disappeared. We were determined not to let him suffer, yet his fighting spirit and determination appeared to remain strong. As a last-ditch effort, and in continual consultation with the empathetic veterinarian, we fashioned a rehabilitative device by cutting leg holes in a towel, placing him in it, and pinning it at the top.

With the help of this device, which we nicknamed the "zoot suit," and with Moose’s warrior spirit in full fighting mode, we were gradually able to teach him to stand, and to walk in short, tiny steps. If he could do this consistently and without discomfort, we might be able to share a bit more time together. Moose was even prouder of his accomplishment than we were. A portion of his much-cherished mobility had returned.

On the afternoon of May 20, he was able to stand and walk better than on any day since his illness began. But that evening his strength began to slip away. By morning, it was obvious that no further miracles would be forthcoming. To the end, his alertness and communication with us never faltered.

One last dog treat and a final hug; and then it was over.

A Place To Rest

We buried Moose under the outside stairs leading up to the deck where we’d sat together so many times. A beautiful setting, it permits sunlight and rain to reach the flowers which surround the grave, yet the stairs shield him from the worst of the storms which he so dreaded. The grave marker bears his name, the date of his arrival at our door, and the day he left us.

Around the little grave mound, we placed river rocks in the form of a horseshoe. The horseshoe is a symbol of good luck, and it represents the Tibetan legend that for one to be given a Lhasa Apso is a sign of great honor and good fortune.

The legend is correct.

Eugene P. Maddox

Dog Writers Association of America
99 Gold Medallion Award Winner

                                                                     

Author unknown

He's just my dog. He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds.

He has told me more than a thousand times over that I am his reason for being -- by the way he rests against my leg, but the way he thumps his tail at the smallest smile, by the way he shows his hurt when I leave.

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 person. With him, I am all powerful.

He has taught me the meaning of devotion is loyalty itself. With him, I know the 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...whenever.. Whenever..in case I need him, and I expect I will, as I always have.

Who is he?? he's just...
My dog :)

                                                                     

By Charles Rose
WildRose Kennel And Outfitting

I waken from fitful sleep, legs jerking, low growls deep within my chest;

Tired eyes look down on a wrinkled graying muzzle;

With effort I roll, Looking at gnarled scarred feet and legs bearing a million old cactus spines buried within;

Reminding me of all those prickly pear and jumping cactus.

Slowly I lift my weary head and gaze upon a greying cloud filled November sky;

Deeply I breathe in,,,ahhhh ,,, finally,,, fall is here!!!

Longingly I gaze into the heavens above.

Lord, please grant my master the strength to make one more season;

twelve years have passed since our first hunt together,,,

I have led him through cactus and mesquite, Tall grass, rocks hills and creeks.

We have seen together ten thousand covey rises, a thousand cackling roosters and a million ducks taking flight.

But now, as I look in the window,,, I see my loving master has tired,,, his pace has slowed and his once commanding voice raspy and faded.

Lord,,, three lifetimes now have I pointed his quail, flushed his roosters, marked his ducks,,, and brought them all to hand,, well most anyhow, and the few I ate,,,well he didn't really want them anyhow.

But time has caught us both,,, now he is slow to rise from his rocker as am I from my pad,,, his withered face and my clouded eyes ,,,, neither the same as before,,, but still the lines in his face are maps I follow in my dreams,,, when clearer eyes led the way through green briar and snow,,, sandstorms and blinding rain.

Oh lord grant us one more season as we each pass from this life we may pass on to our sons and daughters the life, the love, the joy and the sorrows of a thousand hunts we've shared.

And Lord, finally when the season is done would you grant him a soft chair, and me a fine rug,,,

By the hearth in your heavenly lodge.....

Please Lord, Please, Just one More Season.......

Inspired by Duke, J.D, Bubba, Rocky and Killer.

Dedicated to My Father, And to the great German Shorthairs we had in My Youth.

Thanks Dad...