Dog Blessings

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by June Cotner

In return, he gives me dozens of reasons to smile or laugh each day. He greets me enthusiastically when I return from a long absence—say five minutes or more. He endeavors to be my constant companion, shadowing me as I go about my daily routine and always available should I need a smooch or a snuggle. In short, he brings joy and laughter and love to my life.

  So you tell me—who rescued whom?

  Sonya R. Liehr

  Love at First Sight

  I wandered by cages lining the room

  Sad eyes pleaded, Please pick me

  How can I choose?

  Heartbreaking task

  Wishing I could adopt them all

  Then I saw him

  Brown eyes peering at me from

  under salt-and-pepper brows

  Long dirty hair, beard crusted and messy

  Stub of a tail wriggling his rear

  Soft pink tongue reaching through grating

  to lick my hand

  “I’ll take this one,” I said

  and named him Addison

  For 15 years my furry friend and I

  played, romped, cuddled

  Truly cared about the other

  I learned to love so much stronger

  so much better, so much truer

  because of one special little dog.

  Millie Ruesch

  Comfort Zone

  We have our spot.

  Each night she waits for my

  “Say-up,” flying weightless

  Into a clump of soft hair

  Warming my feet up on the couch.

  Slipping into the comfort of

  Old marrieds, content with

  Nearness and routine.

  I reach down and squeeze her foot

  In our secret shake. She eyes me,

  flops over, sighs.

  God is nigh.

  Janice A. Farringer

  Living with Animals

  Maybe it’s that old story of rescue

  Lassie. Rin Tin Tin,

  the two dogs and the Siamese cat

  on a long walk back, looking for home.

  Or it could be a fixed point in the day,

  sureness of warmth, need,

  a timetable, yes

  a timetable.

  It’s not an easy world as we all know

  You turn around and you are old,

  or sick, or hurting; reaching out

  to whatever reaches back.

  Feathers and fur talk of the now,

  keep us humble in the minute,

  because they must be fed,

  walked, played with

  in exchange for a love

  that has no limits.

  Immune systems may be erratic,

  the very planet may wobble,

  yet this day begins with a squawk,

  a bark, a wet tongue.

  I open my eyes; I am alive.

  Lynn Martin

  Dog Days

  My dog days are over. I had just buried Lord Buffington’s collar along with a large dog biscuit. Buff was a remarkable golden retriever I had rescued from a shelter fifteen years earlier. His cheerfulness had carried me through five orthopedic surgeries. Now, still on crutches, adopting even an adult dog seemed more than I could handle. Besides, I consoled myself, I will never love another dog the way I loved Buff.

  Then Taffeta entered my life. Morris, an older gentleman who traveled a lot, asked me to look after his beautiful, parti-colored cocker while he was away. Apprehensively I agreed, and soon realized I could care for her because of her “Velcro” cocker nature—she would not leave my side. I found myself looking forward to Morris’s trips, warning myself not to get too attached because she and Morris were moving to the West coast.

  Taffeta broke through my pall of loneliness and, despite my admonitions, that fall, when Morris went on a trip around the world, I fell in love with her. I remember the moment: She was curled up on her red plaid bed and, as I walked by, something happened to my heart. I had owned dogs, horses, and ponies all my life, but I’d never felt a love like this before.

  When Morris died unexpectedly, Taffeta became my dog. She changed my life. How can you be depressed when the cutest cocker in the world wiggles her entire body in delight when you say, “Want to defrost the refrigerator?” Scratching those downy ears took the morning stiffness out of my hands. Her “motorized” tail-wagging gave me the incentive to get up.

  Sadly, after four years, illness again shattered my world. Despite superb veterinary care, Taffeta died of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. But she had taught me an important lesson: no matter how much you loved a previous dog, no matter how devastated you are when he dies, you can love another dog.

  Nancy A. Messinger

  The Greeting

  I open the door.

  You are already

  bounding to the door

  with a wagging tail,

  flashing teeth,

  and four prancing paws.

  Your healing power dissolves

  the most difficult day

  from memory.

  A cold nose

  and warm kisses

  trigger a child’s laughter

  from my heart.

  I am a better human

  for having you

  in my life.

  Joan Noëldechen

  Our Dog

  She’s our source of entertainment,

  Great affection and delight.

  She’s our guardian protector

  Through the long and cold, dark nights.

  She’s the licker of our faces.

  She’s the chewer of our shoes.

  She’s a loving source of comfort

  On the days we have the blues.

  She’s our under-table taster.

  She’s the sensor of our moods.

  She’s the great appreciator

  Of our kitchen table foods.

  She’s the filler of so many roles

  That make our life so sweet.

  Without her in our family,

  Life would not feel complete.

  Susanne Wiggins Bunch

  A Dog

  ’Tis pity not to have a dog,

  For at the long day’s end

  The man or boy will know the joy

  Of welcome from a friend.

  And whether he be rich or poor

  Or much or little bring,

  The dog will mark his step and bark

  As if he were a king.

  Though gossips whisper now and then

  Of faults they plainly see,

  And some may sneer, from year to year

  My dog stays true to me.

  He’s glad to follow where I go,

  And though I win or fail

  His love for me he’ll let me see,

  By wagging of his tail.

  Now if I were to list the friends

  Of mine in smiles and tears

  Who through and through are staunch and true

  And constant down the years,

  In spite of all my many faults

  Which critics catalog

  Deserving blame, I’d have to name

  My ever-faithful dog.

  ’Tis pity not to have a dog,

  Whatever be his breed,

  For dogs possess a faithfulness

  Which humans sadly need.

  And whether skies be blue or gray

  Good luck or ill attend

  Man’s toil by day, a dog will stay

  His ever-constant friend.

  Edgar A. Guest

  Perspective

  It’s amazing
the comfort I receive

  lying on the floor back-to-back

  with a big soft brown-haired

  warm-bodied mutt named Sarge.

  He never quite understands

  why I enter his domain,

  stoop to his level,

  seek his companionship.

  But I know he relishes it

  as much as I do.

  It’s wonderful, feeling him relax

  as I nuzzle closer.

  This fierce protector of my safety

  sleeps more soundly as years

  rob him of his puppyhood. For these

  few precious moments, we are young

  and spring is in the air.

  Mary Lenore Quigley

  Ever Faithful, Ever Friends

  Our canine friends remain.

  They never waver from their chosen path.

  In poverty and prosperity, in health and in sickness,

  their loyalty stands firm and immovable.

  They will fight all the elements to protect us from harm.

  While we sleep soundly in the comfort of our homes

  they guard us without question; providing a safe haven

  within the circle of their devotion.

  And when the fierce winds of the world

  brush against our battered souls

  they offer comfort to ease our fears.

  They will follow us through all seasons.

  They remain as strong and steady advocates.

  Their simple thoughts are always turned

  toward us, our happiness; our well being.

  They will never close the door to their hearts.

  They remain always, without end.

  Ever faithful. Ever friends.

  Leslie Paramore

  Reflections on Our Bond with Dogs

  The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.

  Samuel Butler

  The bond with a true dog is as lasting as the ties of the earth can ever be.

  Konrad Lorenz

  No animal I know of can consistently be more of a friend and companion than a dog.

  Stanley Leinwoll

  Furry Shrink

  I’d double his life if I could—

  we share a history.

  When friends turn false, my dog stays true,

  his head upon my knee.

  He can erase my loneliness—

  my pain melts in his eyes.

  My dog lies close—he understands

  what I cannot disguise.

  Janet Lombard

  Dog Training

  With arms wide open,

  she received

  her best gift ever

  in her 12th year.

  It was just in time.

  The dark plain of

  Teenage loomed before her.

  The dog, her hero along a decade’s pathless route,

  would save her inside and out, over and over,

  like a good trick.

  Protection here.

  Devotion there.

  Cavorting, adoring, rebounding, attending.

  Teaching the basics she’d

  miss everywhere else;

  contentment,

  exuberance,

  reliability,

  disdain for the disingenuous.

  A cadre of skills

  that would turn around twice

  and curl up deep within her,

  watchful, loyal,

  serving for the duration.

  Kate Dwyer

  A Note for My First

  Years ago, there was only you, itty, bitty you,

  too small to climb the stairs or jump onto the sofa,

  a bounding ball of fresh white fur, always at my heels as we explored the yard.

  Times changed.

  We banished you from upstairs and forbade you from the sofa.

  You hit six months, and we installed a fence—

  2x4s contain you but not your high-pitched bark.

  One baby came home, then another—

  tough times for a terrier.

  But babies become small people, which you seem to like,

  especially when they bounce balls and hold running hoses.

  Eight years old and you still don’t know when to yap,

  what to eat, where to pee.

  No matter—you’ve mastered the big stuff,

  like sniffing out evil and licking floors clean.

  A child cries—you sprint to the scene.

  An adult stews—you keep her company.

  In your world, we all come first.

  Yes, you deserve more walks, more rubs, more brushing, too.

  I can’t promise those, but I do promise this—we’ll always love you.

  Kathleen Whitman Plucker

  Rescue

  Dog,

  you come to me

  head held low,

  tongue hanging out

  the side of your mouth,

  sad tales in your eyes.

  Dog,

  you come to me

  from the highway,

  frantic and pacing,

  feet tough from walking,

  ribs poking through rough fur.

  Dog,

  you come to me

  a bundle of fear

  barking at shadows,

  growling at ghosts,

  shrinking from monsters.

  Dog,

  you come to me

  searching for something,

  nudging my hand,

  tentatively licking,

  quiet and soft.

  Dog,

  you come to me

  over and over.

  I clean you up

  then pass you on,

  wait for the next one.

  Karen R. Porter

  He Knew

  He knew

  in those painful,

  drawn-out minutes

  before the ambulance’s arrival

  what you didn’t know.

  And what he knew

  was exactly what you

  needed,

  all alone, except for him,

  in the most excruciating

  pain of your life,

  fearing the worst.

  He laid his head

  on your arm and

  gave you an unwavering

  look that said,

  “I’m here,

  I’m not going anywhere.”

  Susan Koefod

  A Dog’s Life

  I wait and watch until

  you come home from work

  Most evenings worries

  score your face like so many

  over-gnawed dog bones

  I jump and cavort around

  while slowly that sad face

  lowers down, lets me

  lick all its trouble away

  You laugh, I bark,

  straight from my heart;

  finally, a smile!

  That’s all it takes

  to make my long, lonely

  dog’s day worthwhile

  Arlene Gay Levine

  The Guardian

  He commands with gentleness that which he calls his own,

  Ever-vigilant, ever-watchful, he reaches into the depths of his soul and pours a thousand years of wisdom from his knowing eyes.

  In quiet repose he guards the darkness, his presence filling the room, his bearing regal, his dignity unquestionable.


  Powerful is the roar that fills the night if the peace and sanctity of his beloved home are disturbed.

  Yet, scratched on the belly he fills with delight, his sense of humor tickled by the children he adores.

  No more does he ask than to love and be loved in return. For this alone will he lay down his life.

  He teaches those things that can never be put into words, nor understood by the faint of heart.

  His lessons speak silently of unconditional love, fidelity, and complete communion with nature, understood by so few in this lifetime.

  For those who love him, his dominion is complete, his heart forever faithful.

  Susan A. Krauser

  Guide Dog

  Each night, just before going to bed,

  I enter the study and sit down

  in the room’s only straight-backed chair.

  With my bare feet flat on the hardwood floor

  and my palms resting lightly on my thighs,

  I close my eyes and begin slowly to breathe:

  pulling into my mind, my heart, my body,

  as much of the world’s abundance as I can:

  May so-and-so be happy, may so-and-so be

  healed, may so-and-so be . . .

  My dog knows all of this, knows the routine.

  And now she, too, enters the room.

  Enters and lies down in the middle of the floor.

  Even before I go in, she is there, settled and breathing.

  Now, on those nights when I would prefer

  to skip the routine altogether, from busyness or exhaustion,

  I know that I cannot. Because there she is, waiting—

  a reminder for me that there is work to do:

  deep, prayerful work, there in the dark,

  her breath and mine.

  Lisa Dordal

  The Cats and My Dog

  The cat only had to yowl once. I knew the kittens must be on their way. Missy, my border collie/greyhound mix, followed us into the tiny, downstairs bathroom where I’d prepared a box for the blessed event. Being the cat’s first litter, I expected her to be nervous. What I didn’t expect was Missy’s whining and wagging. She reminded me of Prissy, the servant in Gone with the Wind, who kept wringing her hands because she didn’t “know nuthin’ ’bout birthin’ babies.”

  When the kittens finally started coming, the dog calmed down. The three of us just sat there and marveled at the miracle of birth. Missy appeared mesmerized by the tiny furballs. And her fascination didn’t end there.

  The following morning I awoke to something warm and sticky on my neck. Further inspection pointed to Missy as the culprit. She brought all six kittens upstairs as an offering! Momma Cat hovered nearby, but didn’t seem to object. It became necessary to count the number of noses nestled in the kitty box. For some reason, Missy wouldn’t leave those babies alone! And she always snatched them when I wasn’t looking.

 

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