The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 5

thinks that I am God--
Since he is God on whom
each one depends
For life, and all things that his bounty sends--
My
dear old dog, most constant of all friends;

Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I
To him whom God I know
and own; his eye,
Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod;
He
is more patient underneath the rod
Than I, when God his wise corrections sends.
He looks love at me
deep as words e'er spake,
And from me never crumb or sup will take

But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail.
And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear
He is content and
quiet if I'm near,
Secure that my protection will prevail!
So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he
Tells me what I unto my
God should be.
WILLIAM CROSWELL DOANE.
THE BEST FRIEND
If I was sad, then he had grief, as well--
Seeking my hands with soft
insistent paw,
Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw
More
than my halting, human speech could tell;
Eyes wide with wisdom,
fine, compassionate--
Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate.
If I made merry--then how he would strive
To show his joy; "Good
master, let's to play,
The world is ours," that gladsome bark would
say;
"Just yours and mine--'tis fun to be alive!"
Our world ... four
walls above the city's din,
My crutch the bar that ever held us in.
Whate'er my mood--the fretful word, or sweet,
The swift command,
the wheedling undertone,
His faith was fixed, his love was mine,
alone,
His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet:
Oh, friend
thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed,
Ye taught me trust when man's
dull logic failed.
MERIBAH ABBOTT.

MY DOG AND I
When living seems but little worth
And all things go awry,
I close
the door, we journey forth--
My dog and I!
For books and pen we leave behind,
But little careth he,
His one
great joy in life is just
To be with me.
He notes by just one upward glance
My mental attitude,
As on we
go past laughing stream
And singing wood.
The soft winds have a magic touch
That brings to care release,
The
trees are vocal with delight,
The rivers sing of peace.
How good it is to be alive!
Nature, the healer strong,
Has set each
pulse with life athrill
And joy and song.
Discouragement! 'Twas but a name,
And all things that annoy,
Out
in the lovely world of June
Life seemeth only joy!
And ere we reach the busy town,
Like birds my troubles fly,
We are
two comrades glad of heart--
My dog and I!
ALICE J. CLEATOR.
MY GENTLEMAN
I own a dog who is a gentleman;
By birth most surely, since the
creature can
Boast of a pedigree the like of which
Holds not a
Howard nor a Metternich.
By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod
He never wagged an
unkind tale abroad,
He never snubbed a nameless cur because

Without a friend or credit card he was.
By pride. He looks you squarely in the face
Unshrinking and without

a single trace
Of either diffidence or arrogant
Assertion such as
upstarts often flaunt.
By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear
With absolute impunity his
hair,
And pinch his silken, flowing ears, the while
He smiles upon
her--yes, I've seen him smile.
By loyalty. No truer friend than he
Has come to prove his friendship's
worth to me.
He does not fear the master--knows no fear--
But
loves the man who is his master here.
By countenance. If there be nobler eyes,
More full of honor and of
honesties,
In finer head, on broader shoulders found,
Then have I
never met the man or hound.
Here is the motto on my lifeboat's log:
"God grant I may be worthy of
my dog!"
ANONYMOUS.
THE DEAD BOY'S PORTRAIT
AND HIS DOG
Day after day I have come and sat
Beseechingly upon the mat,

Wistfully wondering where you are at.
Why have they placed you on the wall,
So deathly still, so strangely
tall?
You do not turn from me, nor call.
Why do I never hear my name?
Why are you fastened in a frame?

You are the same, and not the same.
Away from me why do you stare
So far out in the distance where
I
am not? I am here! Not there!
What has your little doggie done?
You used to whistle me to run

Beside you, or ahead, for fun!

You used to pat me, and a glow
Of pleasure through my life would go!

How is it that I shiver so?
My tail was once a waving flag
Of welcome. Now I cannot wag
It
for the weight I have to drag.
I know not what has come to me.
'Tis only in my sleep I see
Things
smiling as they used to be.
I do not dare to bark; I plead
But dumbly, and you never heed;
Nor
my protection seem to need.
I watch the door, I watch the gate;
I am watching early, watching late,

Your doggie still!--I watch and wait.
GERALD MASSEY.
ADVICE TO A DOG PAINTER
Happiest of the spaniel race,
Painter, with thy colors grace,
Draw
his forehead large and high,
Draw his