Bos taken her last ride.

[Macktheknife]

Paul + Vicki, Sorry to hear of this sad time, but take comfort in the fact that you did the best thing you could for the pet you loved and who loved you.

[davereid]

FOUR FEET

I have done mostly what men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can't forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.

Day after day, the whole day through--
Wherever my road inclined--
Four-Feet said, 'I am coming with you!'
And trotted along behind.

Now I must go by some other round--
Which I shall never find--
Some where that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

--- Rudyard Kipling ---

[pete376403]

Our 11 yo dog met the vet for the final time last week - it's not easy no matter how much you know its for the better. I only hope someone will be allowed to do it for me when I reach that stage rather than keeping me hanging on in drooling incontinence.
Kipling did a few poems about dogs - "The Power Of The Dog" is a good one.

[Nasty]

Our thoughts are with you Paul n Vicki .. we both know how much our additional four legged friends make up the family ... RIP Bo

[Ixion]

from THY SERVANT A DOG (1930)


HIS APOLOGIES

Master, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou has forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy Knee...
Art thou content with Thy Servant ? He is very comfy with Thee.

Master, behold a Sinner ? He hath done grievous wrong.
He hath defiled Thy Premises through being kept in too long.
Wherefore his nose has been rubbed in the dirt,
and his self-respect has been bruisèd.
Master, pardon Thy Sinner, and see he is properly loosèd.

Master - again Thy Sinner ! This that was once Thy Shoe,
He hath found and taken and carried aside, as fitting matter to chew.
Now there is neither blacking nor tongue, and the Housemaid has us in tow.
Master, remember Thy Servant is young, and tell her to let him go !

Master, extol Thy Servant ! He hath met a most Worthy Foe !
There has been fighting all over the Shop - and into the Shop also !
Till cruel umbrellas parted the strife (or I might have been choking him yet).
But Thy Servant has had the Time of His Life -
and now shall we call on the vet ?

Master, behold Thy Servant ! Strange children came to play,
And because they fought to caress him, Thy Servant wentedst away.
But now that the Little Beasts have gone, he has returned to see
(Brushed - with his Sunday collar on -) what they left over from tea.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Master, pity Thy Servant ! He is deaf and three parts blind,
he cannot catch Thy Commandments. He cannot read Thy Mind.
Oh, leave him not in his loneliness; nor make him that kitten's scorn.
He has had none other God than Thee since the year that he was born !

Lord, look down on Thy Servant ! Bad things have come to pass,
There is no heat in the midday sun nor health in the wayside grass.
His bones are full of an old disease - his torments run and increase.
Lord, make haste with Thy Lightnings and grant him a quick release !

“The Power of the Dog”
Rudyard Kipling

THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve.
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Because. Just because.