"This is a prayer for little paws
All up and down the land,
Driven
away, no friendly voice
Never an outstretched hand.
For weary paws of
little beasts
Torn and stained with red,
And never a home and never a rest,
Till
little beasts are dead.
Oh God of homeless things look down
And try to
ease the way
Of all the little weary paws
That walk the world today."
~ Anonymous ~
A Hunters Poem
A hunter shot a flock of geese that flew within his reach.
Two were stopped
in their rapid flight and fell on the sandy beach.
The male bird lay at the water's
edge and just before he died,
He faintly called to his wounded mate and she dragged
herself to his side.
She bent her head and crooned to him in a way distressed
and wild,
Caressing her one and only mate as a mother would a child.
Then covering
him with her broken wing and gasping with failing breath,
She laid her head against
his breast, a feeble honk...then death.
This story is true, though crudely
told. I was the man in this case.
I stood knee-deep in snow and cold, and the
hot tears burned my face.
I buried the birds in the sand where they lay, wrapped
in my hunting coat.
And I threw my gun and belt in the bay, when I crossed in
the open boat.
Hunters will call me a right poor sport and scoff at the thing
I did,
But that day something broke in my heart, and shoot again?
God forbid.
This reminds me of when William Holden was shooting "The Wild Bunch" and told the story of when he went on Safari in Kenya. He went down there as a sort of macho thing to do and upon his first day on Safari he wondered how anyone could kill these beautiful animals.
He then went on to establish the Mount Kenya Game Ranch to protect the wildlife. Upon his untimely death in 1981 this Ranch was renamed the William Holden Wildlife Foundation and Wildlife Education Center.This Foundation is still thriving today in his memory.
A Prayer For Animals
the Animals, especially for animals who are suffering ;
for animals that are over-worked, under-fed and cruelly
treated; for all wistful creatures in captivity that beat
their wings against bars; for any that are hunted or lost or
destroyed or frightened or hungry; for all that must be put to
death. We entreat for them all Thy mercy and pity, and
for those who deal with them we ask a heart of compassion
and gentle hands and kindly words. Make us, ourselves, to be
true friends; to animals and so to share the blessings of
the merciful."
~ Albert Schweitzer ~
The Stray Cat
Oh, what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth and food
For from that day I ceased to be
The master of my destiny.
While he, with purr and velvet paw
Became within my house the law.
He scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed.
He ruled in arrogance and pride
And broke my heart the day he died.
So if you really think, oh Cat,
I'd willingly relive all that
Because you come forlorn and thin
Well....don't just stand there,
Come on in...
~ William Waltham ~
Forgive Me if I Weep
That little cat who scampered through the house,
Or curled asleep upon the window ledge,
Though still alert to stir of leaf or mouse.
But now he's gone, whose soft paw often touched
My cheek at the first glint of day;
Or with arched back, skipped through the room,
Enticing me to enter in his play.
Oh God of little cats-my earnest plea
Is that while things are strange to him You may
Scratch his ears sometimes, let him chase
Celestial mice along the Milky Way,
Just for a little while until he finds
Some chosen spot upon the Outer Gate
When he is weary of his running, where he may
Curl in the sunshine, there to sleep-and wait.
~ Anonymous ~
Little Cat Lost
So long the street;
So many wheels!
And quick stepping feet!
Alone am I,
No passer by
Listens or hears
My frightened cry;
Hoping, I wait...
Beside the gate...
I may be seen
Before I die...
So many people,
Fat doggies on leads...
Go rushing along...
But nobody heeds...
A small, lonely kitten
Who is dying for food...
For food and a friend
In a home that is Good
~ Marygold ~
What George Bernard Shaw Said
A Kitten's Plea
My Special Angel
Tiny
He was scary-looking. Standing about six-foot, six inches tall, he had shoulders the width of my dining room table. His hair hung to his shoulders, a full beard obscured half of his face; his massive arms and chest were covered with tattoos. He was wearing greasy blue jeans and a lean jacket with the sleeves cut out. Chains clanked on his motorcycle boots and on the key ring hanging from his wide leather belt. He held out a hand the size of a pie plate, in which lay a tiny, misshapen kitten.What's wrong with Tiny, Doc?" he asked in a gruff voice.
My exam revealed a birth defect. Tiny's spine had never grown together, and he was paralyzed in his back legs. No amount of surgery, medicine or prayer was going to fix him. I felt helpless.
The only thing I could tell this big, hairy giant was that his little friend was going to die. I was ashamed of my prejudice but I felt a little nervous anticipating the biker's reaction. Being the bearer of bad news is never pleasant, but with a rough-looking character like the man in front of me, I didn't know what to expect.
I tried to be as tactful as possible, explaining Tiny's problem and what we could expect, which was a slow, lingering death. I braced myself for his response.
But the big fellow only looked at me with eyes that I could barely see through the hair on his face and said sadly, "I guess we gotta do him, huh, Doc?"
I agreed that, yes, the best way to help Tiny was to give him the injection that would end his poor, pain-filled life. So with his owner holding Tiny, we ended the little kitten's pain.
When it was over, I was surprised to see this macho guy the size of an oak tree just standing there holding Tiny, with tears running down his beard. He never apologized for crying, but he managed a choked "Thanks, Doc," as he carried his little friend's body home to bury him.
Although ending a patient's life is never pleasant, my staff and I all agreed that we were glad we could stop the sick kitten's pain. Weeks passed, and the incident faded.
Then one day the oak-sized biker appeared in the clinic again. It looked ominously like we were about to repeat the earlier scenario. The huge man was wearing the same clothes and carrying another kitten in his pie-plate hand. But I was enormously relieved upon examining "Tiny Two" to find he was absolutely, perfectly, wonderfully normal and healthy. I started Tiny Two's vaccinations, tested him for worms and discussed his care, diet and future needs with his deceptively tough-looking owner. By now, it was obvious that Mr. Oak Tree had a heart that matched his size.
I wonder now how many other Hell's Angel types are really closet marshmallows. In fact, whenever I see a pack of scary-looking bikers roaring past me on the road, I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of some tiny little kitten poking its head up out of a sleek chrome sidecar or maybe even peeking out from inside the front of a black leather jacket.
Four Feet In Heaven
Your favorite chair is vacant now,
No eager purrs to greet me.
No softly padded paws to run,
Ecstatically to meet me.
No coaxing rubs, no plaintive cry,
Will say it's time for feeding.
I've put away your bowl and all
The things you won't be needing.
But I will miss you, little friend,
For I could never measure,
The happiness you brought to me,
The comfort and the pleasure.
And since God put you here to share
In earthly joy and sorrow.
I'm sure there'll be a place for you
In Heaven's bright tomorrow.
There's Always Room For One More
I see by his coat he must be a stray,
the untidy look gives him away.
He�s lost his will and is so thin
hasn�t eaten, since God knows when.
I know as I coax him through the door,
There�s always room for one more.
The other night in the freezing rain,
That little female came again.
Matted and soaked crying in need,
lost and alone with babies to feed.
Her pleading eyes I couldn�t ignore,
There�s always room for one more.
There�s a new face on the docks today,
hungry but clean, to our dismay,
I stroked her head Her body rippled
when she got up I saw she was crippled
she started to go, but fell on the floor.
There�s always room for one more.
There�s the poor doggy standing in the rain,
I�ve tried to entice him time and again.
One ears lopsided, the other�s been torn,
Blind in one eye, lost and forlorn.
He�s coming now, so I�ll open the door.
There�s always room for one more.
These stories are true, As I�ve said before,
There�s always room for one more.
A Message from Max
My name is Max and I have a little something I'd like to whisper in your ear.
I know that you humans lead busy lives. Some have to work, some have children
to raise.
It always seems like you are running here and there, often much too fast,
often never noticing the truly grand things in life.
Look down at me now, while you sit there at your computer. See they way My
dark brown eyes look at yours? They are slightly cloudy now, that comes with
age. The grey hairs are beginning to ring my soft muzzle. You smile at me; I
see love in your eyes. What do you see in mine?
Do you see a spirit, a soul inside who loves you as no other could in the
world? A spirit that would forgive all trespasses of prior wrong doing for
just a simple moment of your time?
That is all I ask. To slow down if even for a few minutes to be with me. So
many times you have been saddened by the words you read on that screen, of
others of my kind, passing. Sometimes we die young and oh so
quickly,sometimes so suddenly it wrenches your heart out of your throat.
Sometimes we age so slowly before your eyes that you do not even seem to
know, until the very end, when we look at you with grizzled muzzles and
cataract clouded eyes. Still the love is always there, even when we take that
long sleep, to run free in distant lands.
I may not be here tomorrow; I may not be here next week. Someday you will
shed the waters from your eyes, that humans have when deep grief fills their
souls, and you will be angry at yourself that you did not have just "One more
day" with me.
Because I love you so, your sorrow touches my spirit and grieves me. We have
now, together. So come, sit down here next to me on the floor. And look deep
into my eyes. What do you see? If you look hard and deep enough we will talk,
you and I, heart to heart. Come to me not as "alpha" or as a "trainer" or
even a "Mom or Dad", come to me as a living soul and stroke my fur and let us
look deep into one another's eyes, and talk. I may tell you something about
the fun of chasing a tennis ball, or I may tell you something profound about
myself, or even life in general. You decided to have me in your life (I
hope) because you wanted a soul to share just such things with.
Someone very different from you, and here I am. I am a dog, but I am alive. I
feel emotion, I feel physical senses, and I can revel in the differences of
our spirits and souls. I do not think of you as a "Dog on two feet"---I know
what you are. You are human, in all your quirkiness, and I love you still.
Now, come sit with me, on the floor. Enter my world, and let time slow down
if even for only 15 minutes. Look deep in my eyes, and whisper to my ears.
Speak with your heart, with your joy and I will know your true self.
We may not have tomorrow, and life is oh so very short.
Love, Max
(on behalf of all canines everywhere)
"May be reposted and shared freely as long as this credit appears with the
post:
given to J.D.Ellis 2001, [email protected].