September 10th 2007 2:50 pm
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(Written on September 6 (Thursday), transferred to Dogster on September 10th (Monday))
I'll get to the poem right after I tell you how my day was today. It started out pretty bad, I had an "accident" even though I'm housetrained. It wasn't my fault though, 'cause it was diarghea. No one got mad at me, but I just don't like having to do that. Later, me and my big "sister" (Cookie) got to have a walk outside. Oh yeah, mistress also taught me a new trick. It's called "Tunnel", and it means I have to walk through some little tube-ish thing. It smells like cat inside. I don't mind going through it, except it's a little stuffy in there...and there's two balls hanging off the side that smell like cat nip. It was made for cats, but it does look like an Agility tunnel. Mistress figured since it's too small for her to teach Cookie with it that she'd teach me. I learned the basics of it after a few mintues. At first, she blocked other "short cuts" so I couldn't go around it or over it. Then, she gradually took each "shortcut block" away, saying "no" every time I tried going that way instead. After a while, everything "shortcot blocker" was gone, and I could run right through it. Then we were through with tunnels for the day.
Tonight, mistress got out the scissors. My nails were just trimmed on Sunady, so no fear of that until the middle of this month. The first time my nails were trimmed, I put up with it without any fuss. The second time was different. Mistress thought maybe it was because she accidentaly cut into the quick once. (That wasn't the reason, by the way. The reason is because I had a nightmare the night before where a monster used his his big claws to trim my nails. I guess he loved trimming my nails, so he then trimmed my paws off. I panicked. No more running around? OH, NO! Tell me when it's over...never mind, it was just a dream. I'm awake now.) Well, anyway, just tonight, just a few minutes ago in fact, she trimmed some of the fur off my paws. She's done it before and all, but I was still thinking about that bad dream I had. Well, it didn't hurt or anything, so I calmed down. Even more later on (tonight), mistress decided to show her dad all the neat tricks I could do (sit, laydown, shake, high5, up, down, and come-on (I put my paws up on her tummy and stretch. Which I LOVE to do, but am only alwayed to do it on command.) Then, she had to do some things for her dad (who's bed-ridden). So, she said "up", and I jump onto a chair. Then she said "sit", and I sat. Then she said "stay". She started to walk away. Hey, where was she goin' without me? I followed her. She tried to get me back on the chair, but her dad got mad. So she did something for him, and came back. Now she had something esle to do for him. This time, she got her little brother to help. She did the "up" thing, the "sit" thing, and the "stay" again. I followed her this time too. Except, Charles picked me up, put me back, and said "no" several times. It finally hit me! (Ouch!, JK) I was supposed to stay there, and wait. So I did, and did not try to get down until I was told. Wow, mistress was surprised (and proud)! It took Cookie 5 or 6 times before she got the "stay" thing down pat. I bet I'd make a great Obedience dog! Phew! That was a lot of typing!Okay, here's the poem:
THE POWER OF THE DOG
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?
Brother 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 a natural way,
When it come 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?
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