Protest in Hong Kong

The China Dog Massacre

Beijing’s dog killing campaign has sent alarming signals to relevant organizations. The atmosphere is indeed getting tense. Stray and pet dogs are getting caught in this movement and have been cruelly bludgeoned.

Epitaph To a Dog

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.

The Price, 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 in Newfoundland,
May, 1803 And died in Newstead Abbey,
Nov. 18, 1808.
When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown by glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And stories urns record that 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 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, ennoble 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.

Lord Byron’s tribute to “Boatswain,” on a monument in the garden of Newstead Abbey.

 

The Power of The Dog

There is sorrow enough in the usual 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?

Brother and sister I bid you beware
Of giving your heart for 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 14 years that nature permits
Are closing with asthma or tumours or fits

And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers and loaded guns

Then you will find – it’s your own affair
But…. you’ve given your heart for a dog to tear

When the body that lived at your every will
With its whimper of welcome is still (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 for a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way
When it comes to burying human 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 we do grieve

For when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short term loan is as bad as a long

So why in heaven before we are there
Should we give our hearts for a dog to tear?

-Rudyard Kipling