Poems About Dogs

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be,Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began,The dog to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighboring streets The wondering neighbors ran,And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man!

The wound it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye:And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light, That showed the rogues they lied:--The man recovered of the bite. The dog it was that died!

Methinks I see her frantic with despair,Her streaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing hair;Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor bestrow,And her torn fan gives real signs of woe.Hence, Superstition! that tormenting guest,That haunts with fancied fears the coward breast;No dread events upon this fate attend,Stream eyes no more, no more thy tresses rend.Though certain omens oft forewarn a state,And dying lions show the monarch's fate,Why should such fears bid Celia's sorrow rise?For, when a lap-dog falls, no lover dies.Cease, Celia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears.Some warmer passion will dispel thy cares.In man you'll find a more substantial bliss,More grateful toying and a sweeter kiss.He's dead. Oh! lay him gently in the ground!And may his tomb be by this verse renowned:Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid,Who fawned like man, but ne'er like man betrayed.

When the fourteen years which Nature permitsAre closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,And the vet's unspoken prescription runsTo lethal chambers or loaded guns,Then you will find--it's your own affairBut... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single willWhen the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!)When the spirit that answered your every moodIs gone--wherever it goes--for good,You will discover how much you care,And will give your heart to a 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 longSo why in Heaven (before we are there!)Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

No wagging tail the scene relieved:I never in my life conceived(I swear it on the Decalogue!)Such penury of living dog.

The barking and the howling stilled,The snarling with the snarler killed,All nature seemed to hold its breath:The silence was as deep as death.

True, candidates were all in roarOn every platform, as before;And villains, as before, felt freeTo finger the calliope.

True, the Salvationist by night,And milkman in the early light,The lonely flutist and the millPerformed their functions with a will.

True, church bells on a Sunday rangThe sick man's curtain down--the bangOf trains, contesting for the track,Out of the shadow called him back.

True, cocks, at all unheavenly hours,Crew with excruciating powers,Cats on the woodshed rang and roared,Fat citizens and fog-horns snored.

But this was all too fine for earsAccustomed, through the awful years,To the nocturnal monologuesAnd day debates of Oakland dogs.

And so the world was silent. NowWhat else befell--to whom and how?Imprimis, then, there were no fleas,And days of worth brought nights of ease.

Men walked about without the dreadOf being torn to many a shred,Each fragment holding half a cruseOf hydrophobia's quickening juice.

They had not to propitiateSome curst kioodle at each gate,But entered one another's grounds,Unscared, and were not fed to hounds.

Women could drive and not a pupWould lift the horse's tendons upAnd let them go--to interjectA certain musical effect.

Even children's ponies went about,All grave and sober-paced, withoutA bulldog hanging to each nose--Proud of his fragrance, I suppose.

Dog being dead, Man's lawless flameBurned out: he granted Woman's claim,Children's and those of country, art--all took lodgings in his heart.

When memories of his former shameCrimsoned his cheeks with sudden flameHe said; "I know my fault too well--They fawned upon me and I fell."

Ah! 'twas a lovely world!--no moreI met that indisposing bore,The unseraphic cynogogue--The man who's proud to love a dog.

Thus in my dream the golden reignOf Reason filled the world again,And all mankind confessed her sway,From Walnut Creek to San Jose.

Two, who usually prize us, Will they jump and make a fuss?Will they really recognise us Where they wait?

Hush! I hear the funny pair Softly whimpering--yes, they're there.Dane and Pekinese, they scratch At the wood, At the solid wood between us;Duke attempts to lift the latch; It's a month since they have seen us-- Open! Good!

Down, Duke, down! Enough, enough!Soo-Ti's screaming; seize his scruff. Soo-Ti's having fearful fits; Duke is tearing us to bits.One will trip us, one will throw us--But, the darlings, don't they know us!

Then off with a clatter the long dog leapt, and, oh, what a race he ran,At the hurricane pace of a minute a mile, as only a long dog can.Into and out of the bushes he pierced like a shooting star;And now he thundered around us, and now he was whirling far.And the little dog gazed till he seemed amazed, and then he took to it too;With shrill notes flung from his pert pink tongue right after his friend he flew;And the long legs lashed and the short legs flashed and scurried like anything,While Duke ran round in a circle and Soo-Ti ran in a ring.

And last they hurtled amongst us, and then there were tales to tell,For all of us seemed to be scattered and torn, and all of us shrieked and fell;And John, who is plump, got an awful bump, and Helen, who's tall and thin,Was shot through a shrub and gained in bruise as much as she lost in skin;And Rosamond's frock was rent in rags, and tattered in strips was Peg's,And both of them suffered the ninepin fate to the ruin of arms and legs;And every face was licked by a dog, and battered was every limb,When Duke ran round in a circle and Soo-Ti ran after him.

Another time, when Bobbie went to play out on the dockHe fell into the water there, (he'd stumbled on a block);I sprang in after him, of course, and dragged him back to land--Then everybody said the way I acted was "just grand." (The rat that I was chasing when I plunged, I never saw again!)

You see this stubby tail of mine? I got that when a carCame near to crushing Bobbie-boy--it gave us all a jar;I knocked him off the track in time, but one wheel caught my tailAnd cut it short; it hurt, of course, and I let out a wail-- (The cur that I had hoped to fight Across the street, was out of sight!)

So, though I haven't meant to be a noble brute at all, I have to take the praise they give, and hear them patiently;But there is comfort in this thought--although it may seem small-- There are some human heroes who are "posing"--just like me!