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Randy Johnson Jul 26
You were without doubt the best dog I've ever had.
Your death has broken my heart and I'm very sad.
When I named you Agnes, I named you after my late mother.
I was your owner and you and I had a lot of love for one another.
You were a Chihuahua and you were an Applehead.
It tore me up when I learned that you were dead.
You were pretty with dark brown fur and you were small.
You weren't just a dog, you were also  my baby doll.
I owned you for almost seven wonderful years.
I found you dead in my kitchen and it drove me to tears.
What I'm about to say is no lie, it's one hunded percent true.
You were my baby doll and your Daddy will always love you.
DEDICATED TO AGNES (2011-2020) WHO PASSED AWAY ON JULY 11, 2020.
Dog Daze
by Michael R. Burch

Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler;
he really is one of the best.
Sometimes in bed
he snuggles my head,
though mostly he plops on my chest.

I think Oz was made to love
from the first ray of light to the dark,
but his great love for me
is exceeded (oh gee!)
by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark.



Epitaph for a Lambkin
by Michael R. Burch

for Melody, the prettiest, sweetest and fluffiest dog ever

Now that Melody has been laid to rest
Angels will know what it means to be blessed.

Amen



This Dog
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz     ation by Michael R. Burch

Each morning this dog,
who has become quite attached to me,
sits silently at my feet
until, gently caressing his head,
I acknowledge his company.

This simple recognition gives my companion such joy
he shudders with sheer delight.

Among all languageless creatures
he alone has seen through man entire—
has seen beyond what is good or bad in him
to such a depth he can lay down his life
for the sake of love alone.

Now it is he who shows me the way
through this unfathomable world throbbing with life.

When I see his deep devotion,
his offer of his whole being,
I fail to comprehend...

How, through sheer instinct,
has he discovered whatever it is that he knows?

With his anxious piteous looks
he cannot communicate his understanding
and yet somehow has succeeded in conveying to me
out of the entire creation
the true loveworthiness of man.



My Dog Died
by Pablo Neruda
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My dog died;
so I buried him in the backyard garden
next to some rusted machine.

One day I'll rejoin him, over there,
but for now he's gone
with his shaggy mane, his crude manners and his cold, clammy nose,
while I, the atheist who never believed
in any heaven for human beings,
now believe in a paradise I'm unfit to enter.

Yes, I somehow now believe in a heavenly kennel
where my dog awaits my arrival
wagging his tail in furious friendship!

But I'll not indulge in sadness here:
why bewail a companion
who was never servile?

His friendship was more like that of a porcupine
preserving its prickly autonomy.

His was the friendship of a distant star
with no more intimacy than true friendship called for
and no false demonstrations:
he never clambered over me
coating my clothes with mange;
he never assaulted my knee
like dogs obsessed with ***.

But he used to gaze up at me,
giving me the attention my ego demanded,
while helping this vainglorious man
understand my concerns were none of his.

Aye, and with those bright eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd gaze up at me
contentedly;
it was a look he reserved for me alone
all his entire sweet, gentle life,
always merely there, never troubling me,
never demanding anything.

Aye, and often I envied his energetic tail
as we strode the shores of Isla Negra together,
in winter weather, wild birds swarming skyward
as my golden-maned friend leapt about,
supercharged by the sea's electric surges,
sniffing away wildly, his tail held *****,
his face suffused with the salt spray.

Joy! Joy! Joy!
As only dogs experience joy
in the shameless exuberance
of their guiltless spirits.

Thus there are no sad good-byes
for my dog who died;
we never once lied to each other.

He died, he's gone, I buried him;
that's all there is to it.



Bed Head, or, the Ballad of
Beth and her Fur Babies
by Michael R. Burch

When Beth and her babies
prepare for “good night”
sweet rituals of kisses
and cuddles commence.
First Wickett, the eldest,
whose mane has grown light
with the wisdom of age
and advanced senescence
is tucked in, “just right.”

Then Mary, the mother,
is smothered with kisses
in a way that befits
such an angelic missus.

Then Melody, lambkin,
and sweet, soulful Oz
and cute, clever Xander
all clap their clipped paws
and follow sweet Beth
to their high nightly roost
where they’ll sleep on her head
(or, perhaps, her caboose).



Excoriation of a Treat Slave
by Michael R. Burch

I am his Highness’s dog at Kew.
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
—Alexander Pope

We practice our fierce Yapping,
for when the treat slaves come
they’ll grant Us our desire.
(They really are that dumb!)

They’ll never catch Us napping —
our Ears pricked, keen and sharp.
When they step into Our parlor,
We’ll leap awake, and Bark.

But one is rather doltish;
he doesn’t understand
the meaning of Our savage,
imperial, wild Command.

The others are quite docile
and bow to Us on cue.
We think the dull one wrote a poem
about some Dog from Kew

who never grasped Our secret,
whose mind stayed think, and dark.
It’s a question of obedience
conveyed by a Lordly Bark.

But as for playing fetch,
well, that’s another matter.
We think the dullard’s also
as mad as any hatter

and doesn’t grasp his duty
to fling Us slobbery *****
which We’d return to him, mincingly,
here in Our royal halls.



Wickett
by Michael R. Burch

Wickett, sweet Ewok,
Wickett, old Soul,
Wicket, brave Warrior,
though no longer whole . . .

You gave us your All.
You gave us your Best.
You taught us to Love,
like all of the Blessed

Angels and Saints
of good human stock.
You barked the Great Bark.
You walked the True Walk.

Now Wickett, dear Child
and incorrigible Duffer,
we commend you to God
that you no longer suffer.

May you dash through the Stars
like the Wickett of old
and never feel hunger
and never know cold

and be reunited
with all our Good Tribe —
with Harmony and Paw-Paw
and Mary beside.

Go now with our Love
as the great Choir sings
that Wickett, our Wickett,
has at last earned his Wings!



The Resting Place
by Michael R. Burch

for Harmony

Sleep, then, child;
you were dearly loved.

Sleep, and remember
her well-loved face,

strong arms that would lift you,
soft hands that would move

with love’s infinite grace,
such tender caresses!

...

When autumn came early,
you could not stay.

Now, wherever you wander,
the wildflowers bloom

and love is eternal.
Her heart’s great room

is your resting place.

...

Await by the door
her remembered step,

her arms’ warm embraces,
that gathered you in.

Sleep, child, and remember.
Love need not regret

its moment of weakness,
for that is its strength,

And when you awaken,
she will be there,

smiling,
at the Rainbow Bridge.



Oz is the Boss!
by Michael R. Burch

Oz is the boss!
Because? Because...
Because of the wonderful things he does!

He barks like a tyrant
for treats and a hydrant;
his voice far more regal
than mere greyhound or beagle;
his serfs must obey him
or his yipping will slay them!

Oz is the boss!
Because? Because...
Because of the wonderful things he does!



Xander the Joyous
by Michael R. Burch

Xander the Joyous
came here to prove:
Love can be playful!
Love can have moves!

Now Xander the Joyous
bounds around heaven,
waiting for his mommies,
one of the SEVEN ―

the Seven Great Saints
of the Great Canine Race
who evangelize Love
throughout all Time and Space.

Amen



Lady’s Favor: Ye Noble Ballade of Sir Dog and the Butterfly
by Michael R. Burch

Sir was such a gallant man!
When he saw his Lady cry
and beg him to send her a Butterfly,
what else could he do, but comply?

From heaven, he found a Monarch
regal and able to defy
north winds and a chilly sky;
now Sir has his wings and can fly!

When our gallant little dog Sir was unable to live any longer, my wife Beth asked him send her a sign, in the form of a butterfly, that Sir and her mother were reunited and together in heaven. It was cold weather, in the thirties. We rarely see Monarch butterflies in our area, even in the warmer months. But after Sir had been put to sleep, to spare him any further suffering, Beth found a Monarch butterfly in our back yard. It appeared to be lifeless, but she brought it inside, breathed on it, and it returned to life. The Monarch lived with us for another five days, with Beth feeding it fruit juice and Gatorade on a Scrubbie that it could crawl over like a flower. Beth is convinced that Sir sent her the message she had requested.



Solo’s Watch
by Michael R. Burch

Solo was a stray
who found a safe place to stay
with a warm and loving band,
safe at last from whatever cruel hand
made him flinch in his dreams.

Now he wanders the clear-running streams
that converge at the Rainbow’s End
and the Bridge where kind Angels attend
to all souls who are ready to ascend.

And always he looks for those
who hugged him and held him close,
who kissed him and called him dear
and gave him a home free of fear,
to welcome them to his home, here.

Keywords: dog, dogs, canine, love, loyal, loyalty, friendship, companionship, bark, barking, soul, soulful, sweet, bossy, angel, angels, heaven, Rainbow Bridge
King Arthur Apr 9
Dog
I’m the dog
Sharp of tooth and tongue
That bits every hand
And snarls at all
That walk by it
I’m the dog
With deep and long lungs
That howls at night
For a pull in their chest
That they can’t name
I’m the dog
That doesn’t know
How to play nicely
And is always sitting
In the corner, alone
I’m the dog
The vicious dog
The loud dog
The lonely dog
The scared dog
The weeping dog
The dog
That dog
Sitting in your corner
Always staring at you
Always waiting
For you to give in
So it can eat you whole
Randy Johnson Nov 2019
I bought my newest dog one year ago, today is our first anniversary.
Last year, some nice people cut the price in half and sold him to me.
When I bought him, I only paid one hundred.
They sold me a Chihuahua and his name is Red.
I take care of him and he lives in my basement.
When I bought him, it was a hundred bucks that was well spent.
When I bought him, I was amazed at how fast he warmed up to me.
Red is very pretty with brown fur and today is our first anniversary.
DEDICATED TO RED WHO I BOUGHT ON NOVEMBER 11, 2018.
Blossom Jan 2019
I know the process
Doesn’t make it easier
It starts off with shock
Then leads to red anger
I’ll bargain for peace
Till I sink to depression
And hopefully by the end
I’ll have found some acceptance
I know the process
Doesn’t make it easier
I still feel the sharp pain
Since life's been taken from her
Maya Minion died 1/17/2019 at 3 years old. It hurts, she was still a baby.
Randy Johnson Nov 2018
Red
This morning, I experienced some good luck.
I bought a Chihuahua for one hundred bucks.
My new dog is brown and his name is Red.
He will be my dog for many years ahead.
Like other dogs, he probably loves to gnaw on bones.
Red makes the third Chihuahua dog that I own.
neth jones Oct 2018
Another day lumbers ...

My Canine is still and pet
my diet is poison-less
my Simian; grounded
my plumage; tame
my imagination is prank-free
and my Feline is out of mischief ;
in a productive slumber

In soothe to say
It's better this way
And so passes
Another safe day
Andrew Rueter Oct 2017
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break

The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired

The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife

The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
writerReader Jan 2015
my dog speaks
to me
sometimes
she says "people
is stupid"
Randy Johnson Aug 2017
4th
Today my Chihuahua and I celebrate our 4th anniversary.
But something happened two weeks ago that was scary.
I had to rush my dog to the vet because she was sick.
She almost died because she was paralyzed by a tick.
She couldn't move or eat and I was scared she would die.
I was afraid that I would end up having to say goodbye.
She got better after people prayed and there is one thing that I understand.
I'm celebrating my 4th anniversary with a wonderful dog and I'm a lucky man.
Dedicated to Agnes who I adopted on August 27, 2013.
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