Category: Poetry

The Power of the Dog

An incredible moving account of man’s special relationship with the dog.

(Reproduced in full with the very kind written permission of the author, Laban T. where it was first published on UK Commentators.)

The Power of the Dog

Ross’s dog is gravely ill.

I suppose if you don’t have a dog it is hard to understand why anyone would be so upset (that isn’t an insult or a judgement just a statement of fact) and if you do there isn’t much need to explain.

As so often he’s spot-on. I remember in my teens a girlfriend walking through the door one Saturday morning and bursting into floods of tears – and it wasn’t the state of my room.

“What’s the matter ?”

“They’ve taken her to the vet to be put down!” – ‘her’ being the companion of her childhood, a thousand walks and a hundred days out in the country with parents. But I didn’t think like that at the time – I was properly sympathetic and held her till my shoulders were soaked in tears – but it was only a dog, a nice enough dog, but still a dog. At this distance memory fails, but I probably assumed it was just a girl thing, what with being more emotionally open and all that.

The same blindness afflicted me with regard to the effect of children, although I think I wasn’t alone in this. Our single lives were so endlessly fascinating, what friends were doing, who was with whom, the places to go, the people, the parties, that we looked on people who’d got children slightly pityingly, as if they’d been afflicted with a crippling disease (and it IS crippling to a wild social life, although I know a few exceptional people and couples who have just carried on – I’m just not exceptional) which not only curtailed their social life but made them talk about children an awful lot – as if that topic was of any interest at all compared to the important things.

You live and learn. Hopefully. Now I feel more that becoming a parent is gaining access to the secret heart of life and the long chain of familial links down the generations. Not that it doesn’t have its many, many drawbacks. Susan and I looked at each other one day after #2 had arrived and said “whatever did we do with all that time we had?”.

I digress. So I finally learned about why parents are interested in kids, but still didn’t get the dog thing. Our neighbours were childless but treated their dogs like their children – they slept upstairs and their doings were part of our everyday chats. Most odd, we thought.

Dog lovers …

I’d taken my firstborn up to visit his grandpa, and grandpa and I were out walking with grandpa’s dog and the pushchair plus baby. I loved that new dad bit, with bonny boy getting cooed over by all and sundry … the checkout queue turning into a little love fest … and he WAS a beautiful baby – he’s 21 now and six foot.

Lady approaching on the pavement, breaks into happy smile :

“Oh, what a beautiful …”

(Dad smiles modestly… he’s getting used to this …)

“Dog!”

(Smile vanishes instantly)

Then our youngest went off to Big School, and it left a bit of a gap in Susan’s life. Suddenly there were no babies to care for – and she likes caring for things. One day she went off and returned with this chap (and promptly had him snipped, to my horror). Apparently Labradors were very even tempered, good with children and an all round ideal first dog for a family with no dog-owning history on either side, at least since our great-grandparents were on the farm. What’s impressive is that AFAIK, apparently all dogs are descended from domesticated wolves. Just shows what breeding will do.

The kids were thrilled, promised to walk him etc., etc., – didn’t last and soon Mum and Dad were doing most of the walks. But the exercise is great – he and we usually get about three miles a day in – it’s good for an ageing chap with a desk job. I’ve learned most of the footpaths and circular routes round the house.

Labradors seem to eat anything – three week old bird carcases, stones, deer poo, sheep poo, horse poo – and they roll in fox poo, which is not a nice smell and means an hour shampooing him in the garden (then a shower and complete change of clothes). On the good side they love apples, blackberries, plums, the farmer’s turnips – healthy eaters.

He once found a rotting, rank dead rabbit inside a plastic bag, scoffed it, then sat in his crate in the kitchen and disgorged the lot some hours later. Not a nice clean-up job – the smell at close quarters was truly evil.

They’re meant to have more acid in their stomachs than humans to enable digestion of bad food – but ours pushes that way beyond the limits. The Muslims are right enough when they consider dogs unclean. They’re filthy, dirty creatures.

But they have a way of wrapping themselves round the heart. Always pleased to have human company, playful, cheery. All the family quickly grew to love him – even grandma, very much a non-dog person, has a soft spot.

October last year, grandma is round for Sunday tea/dinner, I’m just out in the garden using the last of the light at ten to six.

“Can he stay out here with you? ”

“OK”

The call for tea. I call him – he’s not anywhere in the garden. Round the house – no sign.

“Has he come in?”

“No”

“He’s not in the garden”

Poor grandma. She was left alone in the house while everyone emptied into the darkening garden, calling, then after a quick conference and grabbing of mobiles, two cars head slowly in opposite directions, and the boys are in the local wood with torches. Daughter and I take the car across rough farm tracks, along the routes of his favourite walks, stopping, scanning the gloomy fields, calling him, on again, repeat.

Forty minutes later it’s pitch black and the cars are back. The boys have been right through the woods to the fields on the other side, which we’ve also scanned from the cars as best we could, then back again. Up and down the village – again – half expecting to see a limp form in the headlights. Not a sight or sound.

Tea at seven in almost total silence. The only thing I can compare it with was the first family Christmas without my grandmother.

Eight o’clock. He’s been gone two hours. We’ve been out in the garden and around the house again. Nothing. The feeling that he’s gone for good starts to solidify.

Nine o’clock. My daughter’s standing at the back door, calling his name. Nothing. I feel she’s wasting her time, but in solidarity I go to the side door to call. Open it – he’s standing on the step.

God knows where he’d been. One moment of tremendous pleasure – calling my daughter into the kitchen, without telling her who was there, then watching the ecstatic reunion – the boys hearing the noise and tumbling in, happy uproar. “For he was lost, and is found“.

Once again Mr Kipling has the words :

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 to 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-term 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?

Day of rest!

Apologies to all the readers of Learning from Dogs but it’s been a busy week since returning from the UK and it feels right to take the day off!

As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of the gods.”

And spend a few moments watching this

Disconnected.

Travelling the 5,200 miles, give or take, between Payson (AZ) and London (UK)

Apologies for a slightly reduced service over the next 10 days but Monday 6th June finds me travelling from Phoenix to Dallas, and then Dallas to London Heathrow. This as a result of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service (USCIS) granting me permanent residence (the Green Card) in April and thus me being able to travel back to England to see my new grandson for the first time.

So just a few thoughts, courtesy of Terry Hershey. I subscribe to his weekly Sabbath Moment and they always contain some beautiful sayings and other gems. Take these for example, from his Sabbath Moment of the 30th May.

Anything I’ve ever done that ultimately was worthwhile. . .initially scared me to death. Betty Bender

Betty Bender

Or what about this?

To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself. Soren Kierkegaard

A quick search reveals from the Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy that,

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard (b. 1813, d. 1855) was a profound and prolific writer in the Danish “golden age” of intellectual and artistic activity. His work crosses the boundaries of philosophy, theology, psychology, literary criticism, devotional literature and fiction. Kierkegaard brought this potent mixture of discourses to bear as social critique and for the purpose of renewing Christian faith within Christendom. At the same time he made many original conceptual contributions to each of the disciplines he employed. He is known as the “father of existentialism”, but at least as important are his critiques of Hegel and of the German romantics, his contributions to the development of modernism, his literary experimentation, his vivid re-presentation of biblical figures to bring out their modern relevance, his invention of key concepts which have been explored and redeployed by thinkers ever since, his interventions in contemporary Danish church politics, and his fervent attempts to analyse and revitalise Christian faith.

OK, dear readers, from somewhere over who knows where!

More poetic praise for dogs

A poem by George Crabbe.

I don’t recall who it was who passed this poem to me so apologies for that.

Also a trawl around the Internet can’t find the name of the poem although it is referred to several times as a quote from the late George Crabbe.

Anyway, quote or poem, here it is:

With eye upraised his master’s look to scan,
The joy, the solace, and the aid of man:
The rich man’s guardian and the poor man’s friend,
The only creature faithful to the end.

George Crabbe

However my trawl for more details about the poem did lead to some interesting background information about this writer.

From the website, Our Civilisation

George Crabbe

(1754-1832)

George Crabbe combined three careers: doctor, minister, and writer. Born in Aldeburgh, a fishing village in Suffolk, he served his apprenticeship to an apothecary, and then set up as a surgeon-apothecary in 1775. He abandoned this career four years later and went to London to earn his living as a writer. In 1782 he was ordained priest and became chaplain to the Duke of Rutland. He held several livings thereafter, and finally in 1814 became rector of Trowbridge, Wiltshire, where he spent the rest of his life.

Crabbe’s long literary career divides into two parts: the poems, — notably ‘The Village‘ (1783), published during or shortly after his early stay in London; and the long series of works beginning with ‘Poems‘ (1807), which includes ‘The Parish Register‘ and ‘Sir Eustace Grey‘;’The Borough‘ (1810), ‘Tales in Verse‘ (1812), ‘Tales of the Hall‘ (1819), and the inferior ‘Posthumous Tales‘ (1834). This series shows Crabbe moving from static description and portrait toward narrative, until he achieves something which approaches a group of linked short stories in verse. His work, in its low-keyed, realistic, unsentimental picture of rural life, represents less the last gasp of eighteenth-century poetry than a reaction to it different in direction from Wordsworth’s. It is indicative of the kind of work Crabbe produced that Thomas Hardy admired and was influenced by him.

Also Wikipedia has an extensive entry for Crabbe that starts,

George Crabbe (24 December 1754 – 3 February 1832) was an English poet and naturalist.

He was born in Aldeburgh, Suffolk, the son of a tax collector, and developed his love of poetry as a child. In 1768, he was apprenticed to a local doctor, who taught him little, and in 1771 he changed masters and moved to Woodbridge. There he met his future wife, Sarah Elmy, who accepted his proposal and had the faith and patience not only to wait for Crabbe but to encourage his verse writing. His first major work, a poem entitled “Inebriety”, was self-published in 1775. By this time he had completed his medical training, and had decided to take up writing seriously. In 1780, he went to London, where he had little success, but eventually made an impression on Edmund Burke, who helped him have his poem, The Library, published in 1781. In the meantime, Crabbe’s religious nature had made itself felt, and he was ordained a clergyman and became chaplain to the Duke of Rutland at Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire.

The two works for which Crabbe became best known were The Village (1783) and The Borough (1810), both lengthy poems dealing with the way of life he had experienced. In 1783, he also married Sarah. In 1814, he became Rector of Trowbridge in Wiltshire, where he remained. By the time of his death, he was well regarded and a friend of William Wordsworth, Sir Walter Scott and other major literary figures of the time.

Praise poetic for man’s best friend

Thanks to Neil K in Devon for drawing my attention to this poem.

Four-Feet by Rudyard Kipling

I have done mostly what most 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 —
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

Week-end pause continues

As was mentioned yesterday, taking things really easy this week-end.

Here’s a poem for today.

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 —

Earth is a live conscious entity!

Yet another reflection of the precious planet upon which all life depends.

Watch this!

It comes towards the end of the fascinating documentary about the life of John Trudell. If you would like to watch the complete documentary, then that is available on-line also. It is described by the site Top Documentary Films thus:

At its most basic level, Trudell is an eye-opening documentary that challenges belief systems. At its loftiest, Trudell will inspire you to reawaken your spirit.

In the telling of Trudell, Rae invested more than 12 years chronicling John Trudell’s travels, spoken word, and politics. (The making of the movie, a journey in itself, is as much a story as the finished product).

The film combines archival, convert, and interview footage in a lyrical and naturally stylized manner, with abstract imagery mirroring the coyote nature of Trudell.

Pockmarked with adversity, counterbalanced by preservance, Trudell begins in the late sixties when John Trudell and a community group, Indians of All Tribes, occupy Alcatraz Island for 21 months. This creates international recognition of the American Indian cause and gives birth to the contemporary Indian people’s movement.

Rae revisits Alcatraz, returning to what John refers to as his birth. From Alcatraz, we follow John’s political journey as the national spokesman of the American Indian Movement (AIM).

During this tumultuous period, his work makes him one of the most highly politicalsubversives of the 1970′s, earning him one of the longest FBI files in history (more than 17,000 pages).

That beautiful moon

The moon is at her full, and riding high,

Floods the calm fields with light.

The airs that hover in the summer sky

Are all asleep to-night William Bryant

As many of you know, I wrote a piece last Monday about how close the moon will be to the Earth on the 19th, and some ideas about whether there was a correlation between close full moons and natural disasters.

Well tomorrow is the 19th and I wanted to remind everyone to take time off, be outside and just admire this wondrous object in our night sky.

A reader, thanks Suzann, pointed me to the NASA Science website where there is some good factual information about how special this moon is. From that website, I quote:

Mark your calendar. On March 19th, a full Moon of rare size and beauty will rise in the east at sunset. It’s a super “perigee moon”–the biggest in almost 20 years.

“The last full Moon so big and close to Earth occurred in March of 1993,” says Geoff Chester of the US Naval Observatory in Washington DC. “I’d say it’s worth a look.”

Full Moons vary in size because of the oval shape of the Moon’s orbit. It is an ellipse with one side (perigee) about 50,000 km closer to Earth than the other (apogee): diagram. Nearby perigee moons are about 14% bigger and 30% brighter than lesser moons that occur on the apogee side of the Moon’s orbit.

“The full Moon of March 19th occurs less than one hour away from perigee–a near-perfect coincidence¹that happens only 18 years or so,” adds Chester.

A perigee full Moon brings with it extra-high “perigean tides,” but this is nothing to worry about, according to NOAA. In most places, lunar gravity at perigee pulls tide waters only a few centimeters (an inch or so) higher than usual. Local geography can amplify the effect to about 15 centimeters (six inches)–not exactly a great flood.

(The Moon looks extra-big when it is beaming through foreground objects–a.k.a. “the Moon illusion.”)

Indeed, contrary to some reports circulating the Internet, perigee Moons do not trigger natural disasters. The “super moon” of March 1983, for instance, passed without incident. And an almost-super Moon in Dec. 2008 also proved harmless.

Okay, the Moon is 14% bigger than usual, but can you really tell the difference? It’s tricky. There are no rulers floating in the sky to measure lunar diameters. Hanging high overhead with no reference points to provide a sense of scale, one full Moon can seem much like any other.

The best time to look is when the Moon is near the horizon. That is when illusion mixes with reality to produce a truly stunning view. For reasons not fully understood by astronomers or psychologists, low-hanging Moons look unnaturally large when they beam through trees, buildings and other foreground objects. On March 19th, why not let the “Moon illusion” amplify a full Moon that’s extra-big to begin with? The swollen orb rising in the east at sunset may seem so nearby, you can almost reach out and touch it.

Don’t bother. Even a super perigee Moon is still 356,577 km away. That is, it turns out, a distance of rare beauty.
Author: Dr. Tony Phillips | Credit: Science@NASA

Footnote: Less-perfect perigee moons occur more often. In 2008, for instance, there was a full Moon four hours from perigee. Many observers thought that one looked great, so the one-hour perigee moon of 2011 should be a real crowd pleaser.

Terry Hershey, Payson Visit Announcement

Obviously only relevant to all those that are within reach of Payson, AZ. Apologies to my other readers.

Nationally Known Speaker and Writer will offer Free Seminars on March 14

Terry Hershey will visit Payson on Monday, March 14, to speak at Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church beginning at 2:00 p.m. and at the First Church of the Nazarene beginning at 7:00 p.m.

Mr. Hershey is an inspirational speaker, humorist and author who has been featured on The Hallmark Channel, CNN, and PBS. He holds a mirror up to our fast-forward, disconnected lives, and invites us to share the wisdom of taking an intentional moment to help regain our personal and spiritual balance.

Terry lives, writes and teaches with passion, purpose, heart and grace. He captivates his audience with the motto: “Do less, live more”. He creates an environment where we are given permission to become involved in the world around us, to want what we already have, to be embraced by moments of grace, to allow the child in us to play under a wide sky, to understand that laughter is a type of prayer and to take delight in our friends.

Terry Hershey is the author of ten books. The one that will be the focus of his inspirational presentation in Payson is “Soul Gardening”; winner of a “Book of the Year” award in 2010. Terry’s stories will nurture your soul and renew your sense of what it means to live fully alive. To hear Terry speak is a life-affirming experience. Everywhere he appears, the feedback has been unanimously positive. For example:

Terry Hershey was truly humorous, enlightening and inspiring to one and all. He gave us permission to be embraced by grace.

He was truly the highlight of our year!

Terry’s lectures and books inspire one to see that happiness is already inside.

Terry Hershey will be speaking as follows:

Monday afternoon, March 14:

From 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. at Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church parish hall, located at 1000 N. Easy Street, in Payson at the corner of Sherwood Drive. Note that seating and parking at St Paul’s is limited to about 50 people. If you plan to attend the afternoon session, please call 474-3834 to leave a message reserving a space.

Monday evening, March 14:

From 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. at the First Church of the Nazarene, 200 East Tyler Parkway, located at the northeast corner of Beeline Highway in northern Payson across from the Home Depot. The parish hall will comfortably accommodate up to 200 people. Please call 474-5890 to leave a message reserving a space.

These events are open to everyone at no charge. Refreshments will be available at both sessions. Please plan to bring a friend with you.

Further information may be obtained from:

Paul Handover, (928) 478 8612

John Hurlburt, (928) 468 6572

Dog love

The great gift that dogs grant us.

That is the ability to feel in our hearts and souls what unconditional love really is. Both the giving and receiving of that unconditional love.

As regular readers know there has been a number of articles on Learning from Dogs in recent times about the relationship that we humans have with this genetic off-shoot of wolves with an origin literally in the mists of time. So it is an honour to share with you all, a poem about a very special dog, written by the grandniece of a good friend of ours here in Payson.

That grandniece is Meg and her dog’s name is Siku. Here is Meg’s love poem.

SIKU

My best friend in the whole world is Siku.

Siku is a smelly, thick-fur, cute type of dog.

Siku has a wet nose, round eyes and pointy ears like shark teeth.

She is a happy-go-lucky free-minded smart dog and I am so lucky to have her in my life.

She also is a fun-funny, hip-happy type of dog.

Siku is a run-running, camp-camping, playing games type of dog.

Siku loves to train with me, go sledding with me, and she loves to catch the squirrels and torture our poor little stressed-out cats.

When I am with Siku I feel like the whole world loves me.

I feel smart, cool, funny and loved.

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George Crabbe

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