These are some of our favorite dog poems. If you have one you'd like to share please send it to us and, if you want, a picture of you and your dog. Be warned; you may need to keep the handkerchief nearby. Openly sentimental poems ahead! Expect tears! First friend by Rudyard Kipling "When the Man waked up he said, 'What is Wild Dog doing here?' And the Woman said, 'His name is not Wild Dog anymore, but the First Friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always.'"	Epitaph to a Dog -- Lord Byron's Tribute to "Botswain" on a monument in the garden of Newstead Abbey Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Who possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man Without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May 1803 And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808. When some proud som of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below. When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been. But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonored falls, unnoticed in all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth -- While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power-- Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-- it honors none you wish to mourn. To mark a friend's remains these stones arise: I never knew but one--and here he lies.
To A Dog -- Josephine Preston Peabody So back again? --And is your errand done, Unfailing one? How quick the gray world, at your morning look, Turns wonder book! Come in--O guard and guest; Come, O you breathless, from a lifelong quest! Search my heart; and if a comfort be, Ah, comfort me. You eloquent one, you best Of all diviners, so to trace The weather gleams upon a face; With wordless, querying paw, Adventuring the law! You shaggy Loveliness, What call was it?--What dream beyond a guess, Lured you, gray ages back, From that lone bivouac Of the wild pack?-- Was it your need or ours? The calling trail Of Faith that should not fail? Of hope dim understood?-- That you should follow our poor humanhood, Only because you would! To search and circle--follow and outstrip, Men and their fellowship; And keep your heart no less, Your to-and-fro of hope and wistfulness, Through all world-weathers and against all odds! Can you forgive us, now?-- Your fallen gods?	Portrait of Boatswain at Newstead Abbey