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.
