Posted on 08/08/2015 11:08:10 AM PDT by pabianice
Dogs never die. They don’t know how to. They get tired, and very old, and their bones hurt. Of course they don’t die. If they did they would not want to always go for a walk, even long after their old bones say: ‘No, no, not a good idea. Let’s not go for a walk.’ Nope, dogs always want to go for a walk. They might get one step before their aging tendons collapse them into a heap on the floor, but that’s what dogs are. They walk.
It’s not that they dislike your company. On the contrary, a walk with you is all there is. Their boss, and the cacaphonic symphony of odor that the world is. Cat poop, another dog’s mark, a rotting chicken bone (exultation), and you. That’s what makes their world perfect, and in a perfect world death has no place.
However, dogs get very very sleepy. That’s the thing, you see. They don’t teach you that at the fancy university where they explain about quarks, gluons, and Keynesian economics. They know so much they forget that dogs never die. It’s a shame, really. Dogs have so much to offer and people just talk a lot...
(Excerpt) Read more at reshareworthy.com ...
Well stated.
Just lost my 4th Dandie in May. She had lost her companion just a year before, Dudley. They both developed lymphoma and it took them quickly. I have never missed a dog so much. Only my 13 year old cat left. She didn’t know what to do. Taking my last child to college tomorrow. Maybe I need a pup! It’s so hard but they give such joy.
I’m so sorry. I would get a puppy. Definitely.
Dogs and Beer, proof God loves us...
“Every dog must have a soul, somewhere deep inside
Where all his hurts and grievances are buried with his pride.
Where he decides the good and bad, the wrong way from the right,
And where his judgement carefully is hidden from our sight.
A dog must have a secret place, where every thought abides,
A sort of close acquaintance that he trusts in and confides.
And when accused unjustly for himself, He cannot speak,
Rebuked, He finds within his soul, the comfort he must seek.
He’ll love, tho’he is unloved, and he’ll serve tho’badly used,
And one kind word will wipe away the times when he’s abused.
Altho’ his heart may break in two, his love will still be whole,
Because God gave to every dog an understanding Soul!”
Unknown
White Boxer
Thanks a bunch; you just had to wake up old Tuffy and Rowly and Pearl and Blondie and all the others, didn’t you.
Guess it’s just a good thing I have Jack, Sophie, George, Honey, Penny, Rosie and Billy to share those memories and all those walks with today.
You need to be here.
Why should you be sorry about that; the WORST DOG I have ever met was a whole lot BETTER than the BEST PERSON I ever met.
I waited 5 years after my old Rowly died; take my advice, don’t wait.
I wasted 5 years; but I am now finally surrounded by 7 (yes that’s seven) boys and girls who for some strange reason think I am better than sliced bread.
We have had dozens, yes dozens of cats, dogs, horses, goats, and birds over the last three decades. My wife and I kid that when we meet our pets at “rainbow bridge” it will be a stampede...
Blurry screen.
Tears are running down my face. Our Angel went over that Rainbow Bridge 3 weeks ago at the ripe old age of 16. She is sleeping in my heart forever and she really was that good dog that was written about from the day we brought her home about 6 weeks of age. Thank you.
What a joyous reunion that will be too.
Me 'n God, we have this little deal. When my time comes, I'm ok with that. Just send my boys over the hill and across the bridge to come greet me because I've missed them all so much!!! When I see them, that's when I'll know I'm going home. :-)
OLD DOGS DO NOT DIE
We have a secret, you and I,
That no one else shall know,
For who, but I can see you lie,
Each night, in fire glow?
And who but I can reach my hand
Before we go to bed,
And feel the living warmth of you
And touch your silken head?
And only I walk woodland paths,
And see, ahead of me,
Your small form racing with the wind,
So young again, and free.
And only I can see you swim
In every brook I pass.
And, when I call, no one but I
Can see the bending grass.
Author Unknown
I keep putting my head up to that gun and I always will.
Grief and sorrow are the price for perfect love but it’s still a good bargain.
I don’t know *how* to live without a dog.
The very idea of that is simply impossible.
Living with dogs is who I am.
I fear death much less than being “too old to have a dog, anymore”.
Best friend I ever had, gone 31 years, on July 30.
He left me on my birthday, which I now dread every year because all I can think of is him.
Not a day has gone by, in all those years, that I have not grieved for him.
His epitaph is the best one in the world for a dog.
“The only sorrow he ever brought me, was the day he left me.”
/Still missing Tito, The Wonder Dobe, who saved me from a pedo uncle.
Sobbing Salamander
She loves this boy like a child...
My belief is that when one dog goes, it leaves the door ajar for another needful dog to come in.
It’s a sin to “miss” that awaiting dog.
When ‘Halla died, I had Seven here in barely 3 weeks.
The gaping hole ‘Halla left was swallowing us all and she probably saved Himself from soul-crushing despair.
ROOM IN YOUR HEART
Sorrow fills a barren space;
you close your eyes and see my face
and think of times I made you laugh,
the love we shared, the bond we had,
the special way I needed you -
the friendship shared by just we two.
The day’s too quiet, the world seems older,
the wind blows now a little colder.
You gaze into the empty air
and look for me, but I’m not there -
I’m in heaven and I watch you,
and I see the world around you too.
I see little souls wearing fur,
souls who bark and souls who purr
born unwanted and unloved -
I see all this and more above -
I watch them suffer, I see them cry,
I see them lost, I watch them die.
I see unwanted thousands born -
and when they die, nobody mourns.
These little souls wearing fur
(Some who bark and some who purr)
are castaways who - unlike me -
will never know love or security.
A few short months they starve and roam,
Or caged in shelters - nobody takes home.
They’re special too (furballs of pleasure),
filled with love and each one, a treasure.
My pain and suffering came to an end,
so don’t cry for me, my person, my friend.
But think of the living -
those souls with fur
(some who bark and some who purr) -
And though our bond can’t be broken apart,
make room for another in your home and
your heart.
-— Carol Schubert-James -—
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