Thank You.

I remember bringing you home. You were so small and cuddly with your
tiny paws and soft fur. You bounced around the room with eyes flashing
and ears flopping. Once in a while, you’d let out a little yelp just to let
me know this was your territory. Making a mess of the house and
chewing on everything in sight became a passion and when I scolded you,
you just put your head down and looked up at me with those innocent
eyes as if to say: "I’m sorry, but I’ll do it again as soon as you’re not
watching." As you got older, you protected me by looking out the
window and barking at everyone who walked by. When I had a tough day
at work, you would be waiting for me with your tail wagging just to say,
"Welcome home. I missed you." You never had a bad day and I could
always count on you to be there for me.
When I sat down to read the paper and watch TV, you would hop on my
lap looking for attention. You never asked for anything more than to
have me pat you head so you could go to sleep with your head over my
leg.
As you got older, you moved around more slowly. Then one day, old age
finally took its toll, and you couldn’t stand on those wobbly legs
anymore. I knelt down and patted you lying there, trying to make you
young again. You just looked up at me as if to say you were old and tired
and that after all those years of not asking or anything, you had to ask me
to one last favor.
With tears in my eyes, I drove you one last time to the vet. One last time
you were lying next to me. For some strange reason you were able to
stand up in the animal hospital - perhaps it was your sense of pride. As
the vet led you away, you stopped for an instant, turned your head and
looked at me as if to say: "Thank you for taking care of me." I thought,
"No - thank YOU for taking care of ME."

by snoopy

      Yesterday I was a dog
 Today I'm a dog.
                               Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog.
 Sigh!
                               There's so little hope for advancement.?

The Sport of Death

                                       by julie schenk.
                       "Their bodies were scattered," the paper read.
                       Lean, long-legged Greyhounds,
                       A bullet in each head.
 

                       72 Greyhounds were found there that way
                       In a garbage-strewn lemon field
                       On a still winter day.
                       The dogs were so young--most two or three
                       What crime did they do
                       To deserve this cruelty?
 

                       The judge was their trainer--the crime was, "Too slow."
                       The verdict was "Guilty,"
                       To the death field they'd go.
 

                       These young trusting dogs were led there that day
                       By the trainer they'd worked for--
                       Their trust he'd betray.
 

                       Each Greyhound was shot as their sentence that day.
                       For what human's call "Sport,"
                       What a price these dogs pay!


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