Dog Blessings

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Dog Blessings Page 5

by June Cotner


  All 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 each 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 bright eyes are intent; his eager body begins to quiver. 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 again 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

  Pet Heaven

  There’s a place beyond the rainbow

  That God prepared with care

  So when our pets must leave us

  We’ll know that they are there.

  It is a special sanctum

  Where they can rest and play,

  Knowing we will claim them

  Again some joyous day.

  Our bond will be renewed

  Just as it was before;

  The undying love of a pet—

  You cannot ask for more.

  I pray for such a Heaven,

  For in my heart I know

  Wherever God does take them—

  That’s where I want to go.

  C. David Hay

  Summerhill, August 1, 2003

  For Niki

  Fourteen and a half years

  this hillside

  sweet greens of spring

  sleeping in the shade

  path walks in autumn’s tang

  the snows you loved—

  one hundred and one in dog years,

  they say.

  We ponder your simplicity—

  one suit of clothing

  for all seasons

  no pockets

  no purse

  no stash under the mattress.

  You owned one bowl

  one toothbrush

  one collar and leash—

  and us.

  Judy Kolosso

  Ceremony at Dawn

  We are bundled to each other

  under the plate of a frosty moon

  hung against the flush of first light.

  Elegizing, we remember days

  our beloved dog ran circles

  with the children who first chose her

  as a fluffy puff of tongue and fur,

  the children she met each day

  with raised nose and whopping tail.

  The air so brittle words break

  into the tears of friendship’s end,

  grateful for the honor of the task,

  we dig, heaving with the sacred work

  of letting go. As we bend to lift the old dog

  cold from death’s grip, we release her

  and our years of gratitude

  like a prayer under the shared gaze

  of a dawning sun and a silent holy moon.

  Anne McCrady

  Best Friends

  I had a dog and he had me,

  We were the best of company.

  He was my shadow, loyal and true,

  Where I went he followed, too.

  I was the master—always there

  Who gave him kind and loving care.

  He was the friend I treasured so—

  When I was down he seemed to know.

  But he grew old before my time,

  Lagging now in step and climb.

  I slowed my pace to match his gait

  But often had to stop and wait.

  If he could, he’d follow still.

  He broke my heart—as old dogs will.

  I miss the eyes that shone to say

  He’d love me till his dying day.

  I oft forget and reach to touch

  The old gray head I miss so much;

  Wishing for the time again—

  When he had me and I had him.

  C. David Hay

  Elliott and Amelia

  When my parents’ beloved German shorthaired pointer, Elliott, died last year, all of us mourned. He had been my father’s best friend.

  Amelia, my two-year-old, does not move through the stages of grief like the rest of us, so for her, Elliott is still alive. She looks for him when we visit. Last time, when she sat down to color in my parents’ den, she took a framed picture of Elliott they keep beside the new fish tank and stood it up next to the crayons. “Sit together,” she told me, pointing to the picture.

  The attachment surprises me because we did not see Elliott very often (my parents live several states away), and Amelia’s young attention span is capricious. But she remembers everything about Elliott. She laughs about his kisses, and points to her hand where he liked to lick. She says “Elliott” every time she sees a squirrel, because he liked to chase them, and she always asks about him when she gets on the phone with my parents.

  Instead of saying he’s “night-night” or in Heaven, like we once did, we allow his memory to live, and we laugh along with my little girl when we talk about the pooch. My favorite picture is one of them together—black and white patched Elliott and my bald little baby who had just learned to walk, sitting on the floor with their heads together.

  “Friends,” she says, pointing to that photo.

  Friends.

  Cari Oleskewicz

  A Dog’s Parting Prayer

  Bless this child who made my eyes

  Sparkle with delight

  Every time she ran to me

  To hug and kiss goodnight.

  Bless this child who made my ears

  Perk to hear the sound

  Of her calling me to come and play,

  Or her footsteps on the ground.

  Bless this child who made my nose

  Wiggle with pure glee

  Every time I smelled her scent

  As she sat close to me.

  Bless this child who made my fur

  Tingle at her touch,

  Or when she softly whispered,

  “I love you very much.”

  Bless this child who made my life

  A joy right to the end.

  Now please find another dog

  To be her special friend.

  Laura E. Moore

  If This Were Egypt

  Below a wet April sky John dug your grave,

  the lilac blossoms above it

  just small thoughts kept to themselves.

  We carried your body and laid you down

  in that bowl of brown earth where you curled

  clean and white, a wolf, sleeping.

  To take on your journey we put biscuits and cheese

  and slim crocus petals which the boy

  who knew you his whole life

  dropped in with shaking hands.

  If this were Egypt, best good dog,

  we wouldn’t stop there—

  adding one pizza delivery guy in a red cap;

  a UPS driver, the one with blond hair

  springing from his head like corn straw;

  the whistling meter reader you couldn’t quite reach

  through the wooded teeth of fence; two smart-assed

  kids on mountain bikes; one young plumber

  with a tool belt; the doorbell with wiring
attached;

  three squirrels, one grackle, a raccoon,

  and, if possible, the neighbor’s slinking cat.

  Lisa Zimmerman

  The Last Time

  I hold her across my lap

  my face buried

  in her curled black fur

  breathing in

  her familiar dog scent.

  I finger her green woven collar

  still warm with her.

  I stroke her arthritic little body

  stiffening in my arms.

  The oil in my fingers

  the oily residue of my tears

  anoint her for the last time.

  Donna Wahlert

  Retriever

  “Imagination is the great retriever. . . .”

  —Charles Wright

  If “Heaven is a lovely lake of beer,” as St. Bridget wrote,

  then dog heaven must be this tub of kibble,

  where you can push your muzzle all day long

  without getting bloat or bellyache.

  Where every toilet seat is raised, at the right level

  for slurping, and fire hydrants and saplings tell you, “Here.

  Relieve yourself on us.” And the sun and moon

  fall at your feet, celestial Frisbees flinging themselves

  in shining arcs for your soft mouth to retrieve. Rumi says

  “Personality is a small dog trying to get the soul to play,”

  but you are a big dog, with an even larger heart, and you

  have redeemed our better selves. Forgive us for the times

  we walked away, wanted to do taxes or wash dishes

  instead of playing fetch or tugger. In the green field

  of heaven, there are no collars, no leashes, no delivery trucks

  with bad brakes, and all the dogs run free. Barking is allowed,

  and every pocket holds a treat. Sit. Stay. Good dog.

  Barbara Crooker

  Dog Memorial

  We have come here today to honor and give thanks for a very special dog, [dog’s name]. This creature of God holds a very special place in the hearts of the people gathered together here today. [Dog’s name] made his [her] transition [date] and we come here to mark his [her] passing with a remembering of the gift he [she] was and the gifts he [she] brought into the lives he [she] touched. You who have come here today to remember [dog’s name] are here because your life was no doubt made richer and fuller by having known this special furry loved one. Anyone who has had the honor of having a dog knows what it feels like to be trusted completely, forgiven immediately, and loved unconditionally.

  I would like to invite any of you who would feel comfortable doing so to share with us for a few moments whatever memories you would like to share.

  [Allow time for sharing.]

  Thank you each for sharing your memories with us. God is love and God is life. We gathered here know that certainly [dog’s name] is an expression of God’s love and life. Though he [she] is not here physically any longer, his [her] essence, which is love, will always be with you.

  Let us pray.

  Blessed Mother/Father Creator of all,

  We give grateful thanks for [dog’s name].

  We give thanks that he [she] came wagging his [her] tail into the lives of his [her] friends and family and by so doing made their lives richer and fuller.

  We hold his [her] memory lovingly in our hearts as we have released his [her] physical form.

  We give thanks for the lessons he [she] taught so patiently and lovingly.

  We are grateful for the time we were together in this life and know that the essence of [dog’s name] lives on, for his [her] essence is love.

  As we grieve his [her] passing we celebrate his [her] life.

  We give thanks that he [she] chose [owner’s name] to be his [her] people and in choosing them became an important member of their family.

  Being the people chosen by [dog’s name] is a blessing that even now calls us to come up higher, to forgive more quickly, trust more easily, and love unconditionally.

  Thank you, God, for your love so wonderfully expressed in the being of [dog’s name].

  We release our loved one into the care of a loving God. Amen.

  Reverend Gloria S. Moncrief

  Dogs in Heaven

  You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you they will be there long before any of us.

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.

  Will Rogers

  Poem for a Lost Dog

  I see your face every day

  Watching hopefully from your place on the telephone pole

  Seeking, searching for a savior

  To bring you back where you belong

  You prance through my thoughts

  On well-worn paws

  White tail wagging, waving its surrender, its SOS

  Calling come find me, O Good Samaritan

  Months march on

  Autumn’s gentle leaves turn to winter’s floating flakes

  Your flier, your face, ever-fading, growing fainter

  Until the wayward wanderer becomes a whisper

  At night you still dance through my dreams

  I wonder, where have you gone?

  Did your redeemer rescue you?

  Then I bow my head, and fervently pray

  That somehow, some day you found your way

  Home

  Teri Wilson

  Higher Power

  You let the transformative power

  of unconditional love enter

  your life: you bought a Dog.

  So thou shalt not ignore

  the one who adores you!

  Pet, pamper, play,

  and laugh with your loyal fan, grateful

  for the comfort and companionship

  only they can provide.

  After all, everyone knows

  Dog is just another way

  to spell God.

  Arlene Gay Levine

  My Daughter’s First Word

  Dog.

  Everything

  was Dog.

  The crib,

  the cat,

  the wall.

  Even the dog

  was Dog.

  Dog this.

  Dog that.

  Dog!

  Dog!

  Dog!

  Stuck out my tongue

  just so I’d be called

  Dog.

  To be counted

  as just one of the many

  dogs

  in my daughter’s

  doggy-dog world.

  Peter Markus

  The Nature of His Knowing

  He knows somehow

  The exact moment I am coming to bed.

  There is never a false alarm on his part.

  Before I rise from the chair.

  He leaves my side of the bed

  And moves to the floor to round himself in place.

  Some nights I call him back to bed

  To lie beside me,

  To touch fur,

  To hear his soft animal breathing.

  This night I enter in darkness

  And make my way to his bed.

  I kneel and give thanks to this body of motion,

  This creature of hair and bone.

  I stroke his ears and whisper a blessing

  For the nature of his knowing,

  For the gifts he freely gives.

  Dan Vera

  Blizzard

  Summer mornings the Spitz

  would ap
pear on the front porch—

  me settled in with coffee, books,

  notebook—and like a familiar prayer

  both ask and receive: blessing

  me, wanting petting, and then

  lie—stunning white, against red

  porch floor—quiet as a still life

  but breathing steady, rhythmic.

  God pouring from his heart and

  lungs. “Good dog.”

  Barbara Schmitz

  Lessons from Dogs

  Dogs have become a part of our family and a part of our personal history. They live in the house with us; they sit and sleep together with us. They have brought something unique and satisfying to our lives. They have loved us unconditionally and have taught us important lessons for better living—how to embrace life, how to enjoy the moment, how to let go when it’s time to let go, even when it seems way too soon. They have taught us that the only thing of permanence in life is love and that to spend life rejoicing in its opportunities and its mystery is better than to spend life adding to its misery and sorrow.

  Bernie Siegel

  Caring for a Sick Dog

  Wrapped in my sleeping bag

  by the side of your wicker basket,

  I listen for your slightest whimper.

  When you stir in your sleep,

  I reach out to soothe you—

  fingers through shaggy fur

  touching your ribs

  feeling your heartbeat.

  Donna Wahlert

  Lessons Learned Post 9/11

  (Reverend Roberta Finkelstein reflects on lessons learned from her dog in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.)

  Enthusiasm and engagement. That is the spirituality of the dog. . . . My dog Pepper loves me absolutely, he thinks I’m wonderful all the time, and he is absolutely enthusiastic about the world.

  The word “enthusiasm” has an interesting root. It goes back to the Greek en theos—the indwelling of God. Enthusiasm is not mindless, it is a deep and abiding belief in the goodness of life. That’s the spirituality of the dog—engaged with the world, out there seeing and smelling and interacting. And constantly affirming its basic goodness. . . .

  On September 12th, when I woke up the day after, exhausted from a mostly sleepless night and wondering how I could possibly prepare for the services I had promised that evening, it was Pepper who helped me get back my perspective.

  For Pepper, the morning after September 11 was a morning like any other. He charged up from his bed, headed straight for the door, wriggled in anticipation while I hooked on his leash, then charged out the door and down the porch steps.

 

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