Poems

Dog Haiku's

How do I love thee?
The ways are numberless as
My hairs on the rug.
 
 
My human is home!
I am so ecstatic
I have made a puddle on the carpet
 
 
I want to be close
to you. Can I fit my head
inside your armpit?
 
Look in my eyes and

Deny it. No human could
Love you so much.

 

I lie belly-up

In the sunshine, happier than
You will ever be.

 

Sleeping here, my chin
On your foot -no greater bliss -
Well, maybe catching rats. . .
 

 

I lift my leg and

Anoint each bush - Hello Spot

Smell this and weep.

The Judge

 

I want to be a dog show judge

I want my name in lights

I started at the bottom

But I want to reach the heights

 

I’ve done all the assessments

I’ve travelled near and far

I’ve covered every county

In my trusty little car

 

I’ve befriended all the secretaries

I’ve got to know who’s who

I know all the committees

And just what’s the thing to do

 

And now I’ve got my first big show

The dogs are walking in

I have to really concentrate

And decide who I should bin

 

That second dog is very smart

And moving really well

But I don’t know him from Adam

So he can go as well

 

There’s Mary standing at the front

Her dog is past it’s peak

But I think I’ll give her Best of Breed

She’s judging us next week

 

Phyllis should retire that dog

His front is really bad

But I want to use her stud dog

So best not get her mad

 

The dog that I put second

His owners got a cheek

I know that it’s sedated

It bit the judge last week

 

Well that’s the judging over

I think I did it well

Now who owes me a favour?

Only time will tell!

 

Anon

 

Irish Setters are magnificent, majestic and lovable creatures who have inspired poets through the ages to write odes of praise to them.Morgan Dennis wrote and drew Irish Setters. In his 1947 poem “The Irish Setter Speaks” he captured many of the endearing qualities of the dog. 

I’m typically Irish and devil-may-care,

I’m wonderfully gentle and company rare-

And if you are skeptical, take a good look

At the chapter on me in the Kennel Club Book.

You’ll learn as a bird dog I cannot be beat. 

That once you have trained me you needn’t repeat

Your teachings, that I am the kind who stays taught.  

Unlike other canines whose I.Q. is naught.

No gun dog is better in country that is rough.

I’m quick on my feet and not so easy to bluff.                     

I’m good in the open, I’m good in the briers--

In short I’m the type a real hunter requires.

So if it’s a bird dog you’re needin’, just buy me

And you’ll be delighted the first time you try me.


Sourced by Rachel Millan
 
....._.....
A Poem by Lily Hurden. (Crufts)
>
> This year I thought, I'll go to Crufts,
> The greatest show of all,
> The Mecca of all doggy folk,
> The big dogs and the small.
>
> Big breeders with their champions proud,
> And many a famous name,
> The others with no hope at all,
> They came there just the same.
>
> So off I went, complete with dog,
> There was so much to see,
> Of course knew I'd get a 'First',
> But I had a V.H.C.
>
> I must take home a souvenir,
> The model looked select,
> Ten Guineas said the smiling man,
> So back to my bench I crept.
>
> And so at last I've been to Crufts,
 > The champion dog to see,
> But-I should hate to be the judge,
> For they're champions all -to me.
 
....._.....
 
 
His Apologies
by
Rudyard Kipling
 
Master, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou hast 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 committed a 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 bruised.
Master, pardon Thy Sinner, and see he is properly loosed.
 
Master, again Thy Sinner! This that was once Thy Shoe,
He has 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 has 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 to his loneliness; nor make him that kitten's scorn.
He hath had no 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!
 
....._.....
 

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But 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.

 

Rudyard Kipling

....._.....
 

Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow Wow
 by
Joseph Tabrar

I love my little cat, I do
With soft black silky hair
It comes with me each day to school
And sits upon the chair
When teacher says "why do you bring
That little pet of your's?"
I tell her that I bring my cat
Along with me because

Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
I've got a little cat
And I'm very fond of that
But I'd rather have a bow wow wow!

We used to have two tiny dogs
Such pretty little dears
But daddy sold 'em 'cause they used
To bite each other's ears
I cried all day, at eight each night
Papa sent me to bed
When Ma came home and wiped my eyes
I cried again and said

Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
I've got a little cat
And I'm very fond of that
But I'd rather have a bow wow wow

I'll be so glad when I get old
To do just as I "likes"
I'll keep a parrot and at least
A half a dozen tykes
And when I've got a tiny pet
I'll kiss the little thing
Then put it in its little cot
And on to it I'll sing

Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
I've got a little cat
And I'm very fond of that
But I'd rather have a bow wow wow

 

....._.....

Flush My Dog by Elizabeth Barret Browning
Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is't to such an end
That I praise thy rareness!
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears,
And this glossy fairness.

But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.

Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.

Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.

Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.

And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.

And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
....._.....

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose is a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey, for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog its day.

Charles Kingsley,
Water Babies

....._.....

Why own a dog? There's a danger you know,
You can't own just one, for the craving will grow.
There's no doubt they're addictive, wherein lies the danger.
While living with lots, you'll grow poorer and stranger.

One dog is no trouble, and two are so funny.
The third one is easy, the fourth one's a honey.
The fifth one's delightful, the sixth one's a breeze,
You find you can live with a houseful of ease.

So how 'bout another? Would you really dare?
They're really quite easy but, oh, Lord the hair!
With dogs on the sofa and dogs on the bed,
And crates in the kitchen, it's no bother, you've said.

They're really no trouble, their manners are great.
What's one more dog and just one more crate?
The sofa is hairy, the windows are crusty,
The floor is all footprints, the furniture dusty.

The housekeeping suffers, but what do you care?
Who minds a few noseprints and a little more hair?
So let's keep a puppy, you can always find room,
And a little more time for the dust cloth and broom.

There's hardly a limit to the dogs you can add,
The thought of a cutback sure makes you sad.
Each one is so special, so useful, so funny.
The vet and food bills grows larger, you owe BIG money.

Your folks never visit, few friends come to stay,
Except other "dog folks" who live the same way.
Your lawn has now died, and your shrubs are dead too,
But your weekends are busy, you're off with your crew.

There's dog food and vitamins, training and shots.
And entries and travel and motels which cost lots.
Is it worth it you wonder? Are you caught in a trap?
Then that favorite one comes and climbs in your lap.

His look says you're special and you know that you will
Keep all of the critters in spite of the bill.
Some just for showing and some just to breed.
And some just for loving, they all fill a need.

God, winter's a hassle, the dogs hate it too.
But they must have their walks though they're numb and your blue.
Late evening is awful, you scream and you shout
At the dogs on the sofa who refuse to go out.

The dogs and the dog shows, the travel, the thrills,
The work and the worry, the pressure, the bills.
The whole thing seems worth it, the dogs are your life.
They're charming and funny and offset the strife.

Your life-style has changed. Things won't be the same.
Yes, those dogs are addictive and so is the dog game.

Unknown Poet

THE POWER OF THE DOG

 


 

 

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? 

 

		Rudyard Kipling

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? 

 

		Rudyard Kipling


Remarks to a Grown-Up Pup

    By rules of fitness and of tense, By all old canine precedents,     Oh Adult Dog, the time is up     When I may fondly call you pup -  The years have sped since first you stood,  In straddle-legged puppyhood, -      A watch-pup proud of your renown,      Who barked so hard you tumbled down.  In Age's gain and Youth's retreat  You've found more team-work for your feet,      You drool a soupcon less, and hark!      There's fuller meaning to your bark.  But answer fairly, whilom pup,  Are these full proof of growing up? 

I heard an elephantine tread  That jarred the rafters overhead:     Who leaped in mad abandon there      And tossed my slippers in the air?  Who, sitting gravely on the rug, Espied a microscopic bug     And stalked it, gaining bit by bit, -     Then leapt in air and fell on it? Who gallops madly down the breeze Pursuing specks that no one sees,     Then finds some ancient boot instead     And worries it till it is dead?

I have no adult friends who choose To gnaw the shoe-strings from my shoes, -     Who eat up twine and paper scraps     And bark while they are taking naps. Oh Dog, you offer every proof That stately age yet holds aloof.     Grown up? There's meaning in the phrase,      Of dignity as well as day. Oh why such size, beloved pup? - You've grown enough, but not grown up.

		Burges Johnson