Caring for a Three Legged Dog or Cat

Very beautifully written.  I saved it to my email, I feel it's that good.

Thanks,

Blazer, Kimber & Mommy

The Last Battle

If it should be that I grow frail and weak,

And pain should keep me from my sleep,

Then will you do what must be done,

For this, the last battle, can't be won.

You will be sad I understand,

But don't let grief then stay your hand,

For on this day, more than the rest,

Your love and friendship must stand the test.

We have had so many happy years,

You wouldn't want me to suffer so.

When the time comes, please, let me go.

Take me to where to my needs they'll tend,

Only, stay with me till the end

And hold me firm and speak to me,

Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time you will agree,

It is a kindness you do to me.

Although my tail its last has waved,

From pain and suffering I have been saved.

Don't grieve that it must be you,

Who has to decide this thing to do;

We've been so close,we two, these years,

Don't let your heart hold any tears.

Author Unknown

Vicki,

    Thank you so much for the heart felt complement. However , I can not and will not take credit for the beautiful poems. I just love to read beautiful poetry and wanted to share what is  universally felt when we lose a dear fur baby. I think they express alot of what is sometimes hard to convey. I just wanted to console all those who are having a difficult time and are mourning. I posted them here as a reference, because one day, I might need them here to read as a reminder of how to ease my own sorrow.

Sending hugs ,

Kim&Buster

Hi Kim,  what beautiful poems.  My mom has tears in her eyes and will definitely keep these for the day she may need them herself.  She has created a folder where she keeps all the beautiful poems so that she can read them from time to time.  Thanks for being so thoughtful and for giving all of us such comfort. 

Mary Oliver is such a beautiful poet, and "In Blackwater Woods" such a beautiful and powerful poem.

She actually wrote a poem about the loss of her own dog (I'm assuming it couldn't be otherwise, even with a poet's imagination, because she gets it, to my mind, so right).  When I first read this, when Sophie was a young dog, it brought me to tears.  We know when we fall in love with a dog that we will most likely outlive this amazing creature who has entered our world.  It's hard to love holding on to that knowledge.  As Mary Oliver says, loving what is mortal, holding it to our bones, and letting it go when it is time.  Here is her poem about her dog (beware- it is powerful and sad), as well as a couple of other poems that speak to me about grief, and love, and what it is to stay in the world after someone we have loved has gone.  I still can't imagine it though.

Her Grave

She would come back, dripping thick water, from the green bog.
She would fall at my feet, she would draw the black skin
from her gums, in a hideous and wonderful smile—
and I would rub my hands over her pricked ears and her
cunning elbows,
and I would hug the barrel of her body, amazed at the unassuming
perfect arch of her neck.

*

It took four of us to carry her into the woods.
We did not think of music,
but, anyway, it began to rain
slowly.

*

Her wolfish, invitational, half-pounce.

Her great and lordly satisfaction at having chased something.

My great and lordly satisfaction at her splash
of happiness as she barged
through the pitch pines swiping my face with her
wild, slightly mossy tongue.

*

Does the hummingbird think he himself invented his crimson throat?
He is wiser than that, I think.

A dog lives fifteen years, if you’re lucky.

Do the cranes crying out in the high clouds
think it is all their own music?

A dog comes to you and lives with you in your own house, but you
do not therefore own her, as you do not own the rain, or the
trees, or the laws which pertain to them.
 
Does the bear wandering in the autumn up the side of the hill
think all by herself she has imagined the refuge and the refreshment
of her long slumber?
 
A dog can never tell you what she knows from the
smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know
almost nothing.
 
Does the water snake with his backbone of diamonds think
the black tunnel on the bank of the pond is a palace
of his own making?

*

She roved ahead of me through the fields, yet would come back, or
wait for me, or be somewhere.
 

Now she is buried under the pines.

Nor will I argue it, or pray for anything but modesty, and
not to be angry.
 
Through the trees there is the sound of the wind, palavering.

The smell of the pine needles, what is it but a taste
of the infallible energies?
 
How strong was her dark body!
How apt is her grave place.
 
How beautiful is her unshakable sleep.

*

Finally,
the slick mountains of love break
over us.

– Mary Oliver

Well, maybe I'll actually stop with this poem, for now.

Christine & Sophie

p.s.  Sophie is three days post first chemo treatment today, Carboplatin.  She seems absolutely fine.  I got her a new rubber chicken, in a purple polka dot bikini, which emits squeaky sounds the nature of which neither Soph nor I have ever encountered!  So she's enjoying that, as well as the continuation of the recent quantum leap in the quality of her food, and she continues the doggy pleasures of making many new friends and attracting much attention in her new three legged status.  So right now she's happy, and so am I.  We wish you all these moments of happiness too, with puppies new and old...

  Yes, that is very deep & beautiful..... dogs are really a gift from God, to be able to inspire so many.

And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and he wagged his tail. And Adam said, "But Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and all the good names are taken and I cannot think of a name for this new animal."

And God said, "No problem! Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG."

Plastic chickens you say??  will have to get one for Buster in my 10 years with him he's never had one... thanks for letting me in on the secret LOL... as always Jerry looks great with the chickie!!

These poems are all beautiful. Our favorite is "The Dog" by Ogden Nash:

The truth I do not stretch or shove 
When I state that the dog is full of love. 
I've also found, by actual test, 
A wet dog is the lovingest.

..we used it on Lalla's custom memory Tripawd Book.