by Walter Wheeler
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.
Neverless 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 tumor, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken perscription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find -- it's your own affair --
But...you're 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 Christial clay..
Our lives 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 we do grieve.
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term long is as bad as a long--
So why in -- Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
This is in memory of our 14-year old Boston terrier - Sam - who
left us suddenly last month. He somehow knew what was happening and somehow held on until his mother got home and he ran to her and died in her arms. And we really miss that dog. We buried him high on a hill overlooking a creek -- he loved to help you fish. Would jump in after the fish if you didn't bring it in quickly enough. His favorite toy was an old rag that he would play tug-of-war with us. When he won
he would prance around the room tossing the rag into the air and catching it on the way down. We buried it with him. And every day I try to drop by his grave and tell him "Prance on, Sam"
Walter Wheeler