Saying Goodbye to Charlie
The Best Place to Bury a Dog
I am thinking now of Charlie,whose coat was silk and warmth in the cold and who,so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or unworthy thought.My friend is buried beneath an oak, near his mother,in clay and earth surrounded by water,and at its proper seasons the oak will strew bright leaves on the shady lawn of his grave.Beneath a shady oak tree, or an apple,or any flowering shrub of the garden,is an excellent place to bury a dog.Beneath such trees, such shrubs,he slept in the drowsy summer,or gnawed at a flavored bone,or lifted his head to challenge some strange intruder.These are good places, in life or in death.Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentimentmore than anything else. For if the dog be well remembered,if sometimes he leaps throughyour dreams actual as in life,eyes kindling, questing, loving, asking, laughing, begging,it matters not at all where that dog sleeps and at last.On a hill where the wind is unrebuked, and the trees are roaring,or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood,or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land,where most exhilarating cattle graze.It is all one to the dog, and all one to you,and nothing is gained, and nothing is lost - if memory lives.But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.
There is one best place to bury a dog.
If you bury him in this spot, he willcome to you when you call - come to you over the grim, dim frontierof death, and down the well-rememberedpath, and to your side again.
And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel, they shall not growl athim, nor resent his coming, for he belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who seeno lightest blade of grass bent by hisfootfall, who hear no whimper, peoplewho may never really have had a dog. Smile at them, for you shall knowsomething that is hidden from them,and which is well worth the knowing.
" The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master."
Adapted for Charlie 1991 - 2005 from a poem by Ben Hur Lampman from the Portland Oregonian Sept. 11, 1925
I am thinking now of Charlie,whose coat was silk and warmth in the cold and who,so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or unworthy thought.My friend is buried beneath an oak, near his mother,in clay and earth surrounded by water,and at its proper seasons the oak will strew bright leaves on the shady lawn of his grave.Beneath a shady oak tree, or an apple,or any flowering shrub of the garden,is an excellent place to bury a dog.Beneath such trees, such shrubs,he slept in the drowsy summer,or gnawed at a flavored bone,or lifted his head to challenge some strange intruder.These are good places, in life or in death.Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentimentmore than anything else. For if the dog be well remembered,if sometimes he leaps throughyour dreams actual as in life,eyes kindling, questing, loving, asking, laughing, begging,it matters not at all where that dog sleeps and at last.On a hill where the wind is unrebuked, and the trees are roaring,or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood,or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land,where most exhilarating cattle graze.It is all one to the dog, and all one to you,and nothing is gained, and nothing is lost - if memory lives.But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.
There is one best place to bury a dog.
If you bury him in this spot, he willcome to you when you call - come to you over the grim, dim frontierof death, and down the well-rememberedpath, and to your side again.
And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel, they shall not growl athim, nor resent his coming, for he belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who seeno lightest blade of grass bent by hisfootfall, who hear no whimper, peoplewho may never really have had a dog. Smile at them, for you shall knowsomething that is hidden from them,and which is well worth the knowing.
" The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master."
Adapted for Charlie 1991 - 2005 from a poem by Ben Hur Lampman from the Portland Oregonian Sept. 11, 1925
posted by John @ 7:30 PM
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