It has been a year and a half since I lost my friend Ody. Mostly, he sits quietly in my . But I have days, like today, when for some reason I wake up thinking about him and I spend the day with a heavy heart. The grieving seems to come back with renewed energy. So in honor of Ody’s life, I want to share three of my favorite poems about loving and losing a canine companion.

The House Dog’s Grave

by Robinson Jeffers

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now

Run with you in the evenings along the shore,

Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment,

You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door

Where I used to scratch to go out or in,

And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor

The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do

On the warm stone,

Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the nights through

I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet

Outside your window where firelight so often plays,

And where you sit to read - and I often grieving for me -

Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard

To think of you ever dying.

A little dog would get tired, living so long.

I hope that when you are

Under the ground like me your lives will appear

As good and joyful as mine.

No, dears, that's too much hope: you are not so well cared for

As I have been.

And never have known the passionate undivided

Fidelities that I knew.

Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided...

But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.

I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures

To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,

I am not . I am not afraid. I am still yours.

Four Feet

by Rudyard Kipling

I have done mostly what men do,

And pushed it out of my mind;

But I can't forget, if I wanted to,

Four-Feet trotting behind.

Day after day, the whole day through--

Wherever my road inclined--

Four-Feet said, 'I am coming with you!'

And trotted along behind.

Now I must go by some other round--

Which I shall never find--

Some where that does not carry the sound

Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

This last is not a poem, but rather two excerpts from John Galsworthy’s essay “Memories,” about his with a dog. You can read the whole essay here.

“Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they arry away with them so many years of our lives. Yet, if they find warmth therein, who would begrudge them those years that they have so guarded? And whatever they take, be sure they have deserved.”

“No, no! If a man does not soon pass beyond the thought ‘By what shall this dog profit me?’ into the large state of simple gladness to be with dog, he shall never know the very essence of that companion ship which depends not on the points of dog, but on some strange and subtle mingling of mute spirits. For it is by muteness that a dog becomes for one so utterly beyond value; with him one is at peace, where words play no torturing tricks. When he just sits, loving, and knows that he is being loved, those are the moments that I think are precious to a dog; when, with his adoring soul coming through his eyes, he feels that you are really thinking of him.”