Rudyard Was Right About Dogs

Oh, it was a happy day when that jumping, whimpering ball of fur was carried lovingly into the house. The children were so gleeful, a new puppy, at last. His arrival meant a tiny leash, a few new bowls, a bag of food, a box of puppy treats.
That day came after a spell of no canine in the family. The house, once filled with laughter and barking had grown silent. Their first beloved pup had to be put down, suffering from an ailment that only large dogs endure.
This new pup brought with his tiny fluffy being a new hope to the family that all would be well forever. Ah, humans, how they so love their dogs.
My favorite poet-author Rudyard Kipling must have had such an encounter with a furry, four-legged creature when he wrote “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?
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.
He grew. Through those endearing years, the children grew to love him deeply. Oh, yes, there were times when mom and dad wanted to send him howling into the wilderness for some playful misdeed, a chewed shoe, a cupcake stolen from the table, a bathroom mishap on the new carpet, but his life became entwined with theirs, he became an invaluable patch in the fabric of their lives.
As with anyone or anything we have grown to love, we begin, one forgotten day, to notice that something just isn’t right. Some of the spark was gone. He was just not the old scamp of a pooch he had been. At first, no one really noticed, or of they did kept mum. But then it became more apparent and a visit was made to the veterinarian.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumor, 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.
They had been through this valley before with the other dear pet, whose photographs still graced their albums and hearts. It was at first love, and then love lost, then bitterness, then emptiness, numbness. Then life stirred once again when this new pup entered their lives.
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.
Yes, sometimes love can be rotten to the core. It is a part of life that cannot be explained even by the wisest soul on the planet. Why? We ask ourselves. Why? The children ask with tears rolling down their young faces at the loss they truly believe they will never surmount. Why? We ask our God, why would You do this to us?
Once again, the house was silent, save for the sound of weeping from the children’s bedrooms. Mother and father, each seeking different parts of the house in which to be alone were reacting just as were their children. They were all clutching handkerchiefs, thinking of those wonderful brilliant days of joy and excitement that were theirs just a seeming few fleeting days ago. He was there, with them. He would lick their faces when the children came home from school
. They had shared (thinking they were pulling something over on their parents) a treat with him, and he would look lovingly, longingly with his big, brown eyes into their young faces and thank them as only a dog can. They looked at the plastic toys he’d chewed once, to get their attention, and more tears welled up and flowed down into their pillow.
Mother and father, too, were thinking how they had yelled at him, chased him, and maybe had even been so angry at him that they kicked him out a sheer desperation at some awful moment in their lives; but now he was gone. Never again they vowed, never again. Is never forever?
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?