A Girl and Her Dogs

MY PUPPY

It’s funny
my puppy
knows just how I feel.

When I’m happy
he’s yappy
and squirms like an eel.

When I’m grumpy
and stays at my heel.

It’s funny
my puppy
knows such a great deal.

-Aileen Fisher

Old Mother Hubbard

Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard,
To fetch her poor dog a bone,
But when she came there
The cupboard was bare
And so the poor dog had none.

Nursery Rhyme

There Was a Little Dog

There was a little dog and he had a little tail
And he used to wag, wag, wag it!
But when he was sad, because he had been bad,
On the ground he would drag, drag, drag it!

Nursery Rhyme

When I Got My New Dog

I asked for strength that I might rear her perfectly;
I was given weakness that I might feed her more treats.

I asked for good health that I might rest easy;
I was given a “special needs” dog that I might know nurturing.

I asked for an obedient dog that I might feel proud;
I was given stubbornness that I might feel humble.

I asked for compliance that I might feel masterful;
I was given a clown that I might laugh.

I asked for a companion that I might not feel lonely;
I was given a best friend that I would feel loved.

I got nothing I asked for,
But everything that I needed.

Unknown

BYE BABY

No more lonely cold nights or hearing that I’m bad
No more growling belly from the meals I never had.
No more scorching sunshine with a water bowl that’s dry.
No more complaining neighbors about the noise when I cry.

No more hearing “shut up”, “get down” or “get out of here”!
No more feeling disliked, only peace is in the air.
Euthanasia is a blessing, though some still can’t see
why I was ever born If I weren’t meant to be.

My last day of living was the best I ever had.
Someone held me very close, I could see she was very sad.
I kissed the lady’s face, and she hugged me as she cried.
I wagged my tail to thank her, then I closed my eyes and died.

Written by an Animal shelter volunteer in Massena, NY

Tray’s Poem
Written by: Leslie Whalen 2/01

One by One, they pass by my cage,
Too old, too worn, too broken, no way.
Way past his time, he can’t run and play.
Then they shake their heads slowly and go on their way.

A little old man, arthritic and sore,
It seems I am not wanted anymore.
I once had a home, I once had a bed,
A place that was warm, and where I was fed.

Now my muzzle is gray, and my eyes slowly fail.
Who wants a dog so old and so frail?
My family decided I didn’t belong,
I got in their way, my attitude was wrong.

Whatever excuse they made in their head,
Can’t justify how they left me for dead.
Now I sit in this cage, where day after day,
The younger dogs get adopted away.

When I had almost come to the end of my rope,
You saw my face, and I finally had hope.
You saw thru the grey, and the legs bent with age,
And felt I still had life beyond this cage.

You took me home, gave me food and a bed,
And shared your own pillow with my poor tired head.
We snuggle and play, and you talk to me low,
You love me so dearly, you want me to know.

I may have lived most of my life with another,
But you outshine them with a love so much stronger.
And I promise to return all the love I can give,
To you, my dear person, as long as I live.

I may be with you for a week, or for years,
We will share many smiles, you will no doubt shed tears.
And when the time comes that God deems I must leave,
I know you will cry and your heart, it will grieve.

And when I arrive at the Bridge, all brand new,
My thoughts and my heart will still be with you.
And I will brag to all who will hear,
Of the person who made my last days so dear.

A DOG ON A EUTHANASIA TABLE

I’m trembling and so worried, for I know I misbehaved.
I chewed Dad’s brand new slippers and saw just how he raged.

I did not mean to wreck them, but my teeth were very sore,
and chewing them relieved the pain and made me feel less bored
And when mom came to smack me, I piddled on the floor,
For I had held my pee all day and could not get out the door.

They said that I was “wicked”, a menace at first glance,
and when they tied me up outside, I howled for one more chance.

Rolled over and sat pretty, and did all those tricks they loved
But they could not forget the wrong and said they had enough
So they took me to a clinic where the smell alone put fear
Into my trembling body, but my cries they did not hear.

For they turned and walked out through the door, without a hug or pat.
I wonder if they will forget, and forgive me, when they come back?
But why do I feel so frightened, as though they’ve gone for good.

They said they’d love me till I died, they really said they would.
I’m strapped onto a table and they’re shaving my front leg
I think I’m getting a needle now, I feel it in my vein…
And why do I feel so lonely? without them comforting me?
And why do I feel so sleepy?
Oh please God, let them forgive me..

Author Unknown

A Dog Sits Waiting
By Kathy Flood

A dog sits waiting in the cold autumn sun,
Too faithful to leave, too frightened to run.
He’s been here for days now with nothing to do
But sit by the road, waiting for you.
He can’t understand why you left him that day
He thought you and he were stopping to play.
He’s sure you’ll come back, and that’s why he stays
How long will he suffer: How many more days?
His legs have grown weak, his throat’s parched and dry
He’s sick now from hunger and falls with a sigh.
He lays down his head and closes his eyes
I wish you could see how a waiting dog dies.

A Dog Has Died

My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I’ll join him right there,
but now he’s gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I’ll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I’ll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:

he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he’d keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Oh how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea’s movement:

my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean’s spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don’t now and never did lie to each other.

So now he’s gone and I buried him,
and that’s all there is to it.

Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer

written by Pablo Neruda

Epitaph to a Dog

His friends he loved. His fellest earthly foes–
Cats–I believe he did but feign to hate.
My hand will miss the insinuated nose,
Mine eyes that tail that wagged contempt at Fate.

Sir William Watson