W.C. Fields said, “I never met a drink I didn’t like.” Will Rogers said the same thing about  men. I say the same thing about dogs. The way I feel, God proved His love of man when He gave him the dog.

 

I have been spun around by my fellow man, forsaken by loved ones, used and discarded by friends.  Man has a way of playing a game called, “You play ball with me and I’ll ram the bat up your nose.” I’ve never met a dog similarly disposed.

 

I’ve walked cross-country in deep snow late at night and had the company of a dog I didn’t ask to come along.

 

I’ve sat alone in a sad house and cursed my fortune while the dog curled up at my feet had a faith in tomorrow I could not find.

 

I’ve been hours late in getting out a dogs feed pan and never heard a complaint. I’ve yelled in rage to clear a room of man and beast only to see a few minutes later one black nose and two bright eyes poke around the doorjamb to sense the spell of the room. I but shifted in my chair and the rascal was in my lap.  The men who cleared the room? They may never come back.

 

I’ve picked up dogs with broken bones and taken them to a vet. No pain could make the dog cry out to his benefactor.

 

I’ve seen children calmed at night with a dog on their pillow.  There  could be no better pacifier, no finer protector.  I might sleep through whatever befell the child, or shy  from an intruder.  The dog would do neither.

 

I’ve seen dogs break ice to retrieve a duck, stand on point with a thorn in pad, go down a 70 percent grade to herd a sheep, chase a car cross-town to be part of a family outing, sniff out a warehouse while a policeman crouched outside with drawn pistol, lick a sick man’s  feet, kiss a crying child’s cheek, stare beseechingly at a mother’s worried face, raise an arm of a dead-tired man who’d worked too hard to make ends meet.

 

I’ve seen men bury their dogs and not be able to stand up to leave the grave.  And I’ve seldom known a man to mention a dog’s parting.        Author unknown.