This week’s theme is dogs, inspired by Loki, the puppy that my stepson Tom and his partner Chloe have newly adopted. Let’s hope he’s not as mischievous as his namesake, though he seems to be making a good start and endearing himself to the family.
Emily Dickinson introduces us to “A Little Dog That Wags His Tail” and Thomas Hardy’s dog Wessex tells us about his position as “A Popular Personage at Home” before Rudyard Kipling concludes by reminding us of “The Power of the Dog”.
Nicola and I considered getting a dog—Nic was rather keen on the idea after our rabbits died—but we eventually decided that since we both worked all day, we couldn’t have given a dog the support it might have needed and so the idea lapsed.
I am also thinking this week of all my friends and family who own or have owned dogs themselves.
Poem 136. A Little Dog That Wags His Tail
Who gambols all the living Day
Emily Dickinson (1830—1886)
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose—
A little Dog that wags his tail
And knows no other joy
Of such a little Dog am I
Reminded by a Boy
Who gambols all the living Day
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose—
The Cat that in the Corner dwells
Her martial Day forgot
The Mouse but a Tradition now
Of her desireless Lot
Another class remind me
Who neither please nor play
But not to make a 'bit of noise'
Beseech each little Boy—
This poem is not so much about a puppy as about a small boy: the poet draws the parallel between them, comparing each one’s endless appetite for random play and contrasting that with the sedate behaviour of an elderly cat which is content to sit in the corner without even dreaming of chasing mice, drawing a further comparison with a humourless relative who demands that the child be seen and not heard.
Poem 137. A Popular Personage at Home
‘Along the path, amid the grass
Thomas Hardy (1840—1928)
I sniff, and find out rarest smells
For rolling over as I pass
The open fields toward the dells.’
‘I live here: “Wessex” is my name:
I am a dog known rather well:
I guard the house but how that came
To be my whim I cannot tell.’
‘With a leap and a heart elate I go
At the end of an hour’s expectancy
To take a walk of a mile or so
With the folk I let live here with me.’
‘Along the path, amid the grass
I sniff, and find out rarest smells
For rolling over as I pass
The open fields toward the dells.’
‘No doubt I shall always cross this sill,
And turn the corner, and stand steady,
Gazing back for my Mistress till
She reaches where I have run already,’
‘And that this meadow with its brook,
And bulrush, even as it appears
As I plunge by with hasty look,
Will stay the same a thousand years.’
Thus ‘Wessex.’ But a dubious ray
At times informs his steadfast eye,
Just for a trice, as though to say,
‘Yet, will this pass, and pass shall I?’
Wessex was Hardy’s much-loved dog who died aged 13 only two years before Hardy himself. This poem is written from the dog’s perspective as he speaks of the sensations he experiences on his daily walk and the expectancy that the world he evidently enjoys so much will last “a thousand years”—this is undermined by the last stanza where Hardy, cognizant of the geological changes that had laid down the Wessex countryside, suggests that nothing lasts forever.
I like the poem for the way it describes typical doggy behaviour: rolling in something suitably smelly, running on ahead and then waiting for his folk to catch up, and plunging full tilt into a stream. I also like the sly comment in the second stanza: “the folk I let live here with me” which is rather more like a cat.
Poem 138. The Power of the Dog
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Rudyard Kipling (1865—1936)
Love unflinching that cannot lie
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 for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, 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.
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!
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-time 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?
Kipling’s poem reflects his love of dogs and is, I think, a very heart-felt lament for the shortness of their existence in comparison with human lives. The refrain’s graphic image of a dog literally tearing the heart of the owner suggests the genuine agony Kipling must have felt over the loss of his companions. The fourth stanza really emphasises the feeling of loss and, I think, suggests that the absence of the faithful hound will inevitably drive the bereft owner to obtain another: “You will discover how much you care, and will give your heart to a dog to tear”.
In the last stanza, Kipling reminds us that the loss of a short-lived pet can cause just as much sorrow as losing one that has enjoyed a long life.
I like this poem because it is searingly honest about the most difficult part of sharing one’s life with any animal—the inevitable end of the partnership.
Comments (from the original post)
- Gill Titley: I think he has almost certainly lost his dog when he wrote this.
- Matt Willing: Yes, I’m sure you’re right. There’s an analysis of the poem at Interesting Literature.
- Roger Till: Tell me about it!
- Linda Willing: Great choices Matt. Such great descriptions of the fun, companionship, joy and sadness at the loss of a four legged friend. Xxx