Tag Archives: love

Trigger

A close up of Trigger!

I have lost my dear old friend Trigger. My guide dog who brought so much joy into my life (and that of others), and who served me faithfully as my guide from 4 July 2011.

Trigger relaxing on the ground

Trigger became very unwell on the evening of Saturday 29 July. My mum, sister and I rushed him to the vets. Although Trigger received excellent treatment his condition deteriated. There was no chance of recovery and to avoid unnecessary suffering I took the heart breaking decision to have my dear old friend euthanised yesterday (Tuesday 1 September).

My mum and I spent some 20 minutes or so with Trigger prior to him being sent into that sleep from which none of us return. He circled us with a pilow case in his mouth, his tail wagging and died, peacefully with that same case in his mouth.

I have so often seen Trigger greet me and family and friends with his blanket or some other object in his mouth, his tail waving wildly.

He has left a huge hole in my life. But he died as he lived, happy with a pillow case clamped in his jaws, surrounded by people he loved, and people who loved him.

Trigger in his bed

The below poem, “The Power of The Dog”, by Rudyard Kipling sums up how I feel and, doubtless how countless other dog owners feel (and have felt) on losing a faithful friend:

“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?”.

(The above poem is in the public domain).

Below are some photographs of Trigger taken several weeks ago, by my friend Jeff, in a park close to my home.

Trigger relaxing on the ground

 

My friend Trigger and me at the Park

Me petting Trigger

 

Me talking about Trigger

Me remembering Trigger

Dog and Man

I see the sky
And ponder on biology
And culture, that maketh me.
Or am
I part
Of some great plan
For man?

My dog has a heart
Full of love for me.
He is biology
(As I am),
But is he part
Of some inscrutable plan
For dog and man?

I am told
That my dog has no soul,
Yet he is more loving than
Many a man.

Or is it art
That separates dog from man?
Perhaps we are part
Of some god’s great plan.

In the end
My old friend,
I think there is just
The great sky above,
And dust,
and love.

There is Something Poignant About the Sunshine

There is something poignant about the sunshine.
A girl’s soft kiss
Is divine.
The bliss
Of fingers
That linger,
Intertwined in mine.

The light lingers,
A girl’s fingers
Still intertwine.
The night breeze
Will freeze
This heart
And art
Of mine.

Women

Some women
I see in shoes
Caked in mud.
Such women
Are good.
So why do I choose
Those in high-heels,
Who flirt
But know not the noble dirt
Of fields?

When a girl’s perfume
Fills the room
It is easy to pretend
My friend
That we do not yield
To the good mud
Of the fields,
In the end.

Fragile

An insect
Brushed against my head.
I showed it respect,
For soon it will be dead

And an insect
Is fragile
As a girl’s smile.
A kiss.
Or the bliss
Of bed.

And the wind blew chill
And will
Do still,
When I am dead.

I Confess

I confess
That I have sought
For beauty
Under a dress
And thought
That I had found
Beauty
Profound
In sighs
And yielding thighs.
Yet, many a time
I confess
That I did find
Beneath that dress
Her perfect skin
And the figure slim,
But no beauty of mind.

In this old, familiar wood

In this old, familiar wood
I take my hood
Down, just
In time for the rain.
I shall not put it up again.

Thoughts of lust,
Of lost love,
And friendship I shall retain,
For a while. But this wood
And the rain,
Shall remain.

The Undiscovered is Exciting

The undiscovered
Is exciting,
And oh so inviting.
But, once uncovered,
Oh so slow
You scarcely know
That that which was once, inviting
Is becoming, ever less
Exciting,
For her dress
Covers
That which has, long ago, been discovered.