Epitaph to a Dog
 

Gentlemen,

I have no photos to offer toward this. Nor is this devoted to hunting, rather it is a poem by Lord Byron about the mutual devotion between he and his faithful Newfoundland, "Boatswain". Boatswain contracted rabies and during that period before his death, Lord Byron nursed his faithful friend with total disregard that one bite would have undoubtedly brought death to his lordship.

My loyal friend and dog Radar, at 11+ years, is slowing down considerably. Death and dying is part of life. Perhaps it is not only our dog's mission to teach us how to live a good life, but also how to accept our eventual aging and passing from this earth. We owe so much to our dogs.

Epitaph to a Dog

Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a DOG,
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18, 1808.

When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on – it honors none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one -- and here he lies.

Well said Mark.

Another interesting piece on dogs, except they forgot the bit about rolling in something very "ripe"
http://www.youtube.com/embed/lJ7AfSO...layer_embedded

I like that a lot, Mark. Well done, sir.

Dennis

Thank you Mark. As a devoted dog owner the poem and your words are very touching.

the man said it all...thanks charlie

What can I say! The poem says it all, I know it sounds crazy but Mattie is in an urn in the coach still traveling with me, maybe someday I will be able to scatter those ashes, but not just yet. Gary

Gunner and his Mom Ilsa rest side by side in the neighbors yard:eek: When I bought this house the property lines were vagely pointed out and as the lot next door was vacant I didn't pay much attention to detail. I mowed what I thought was mine and when Ilsa crossed the fence I buried her. The lot was sold a year or so later and I found out I had been mowing about ten feet of the neighbors yard. He was very understanding when Gunner passed and I buried him next to his Mom. I still take care of that little piece of ground.

I have 14 dogs in the ground in the "dog patch" just east of the old kennel and outside the kitchen window; 5 coon hounds (including, Pokey and Buster, my first Redbones), 5 terriers (including my best, Bonnie and Clyde), and, 4 Pointers (Max, Dusty, Ringo and Ringo's dad, Bart). I have asked my wife to dump my ashes there when the time comes.

Thats Great Fred. Sounds like a capital idea. Dads got his coonhounds behind the grainbin. The only one I knew was ol Joe a Walker. best ch My ol pointer Sam has a fair set of ears.