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<\/p>\nHe was old and his sweet muzzle was white, but we weren’t really ready to say good-bye. But as we prepared to tuck in for the night last evening, I realized that I hadn’t seen Old Yeller for a good part of the day. He usually divided his time between indoors and out, but he loved the deck on a cool, sunny day. We stepped outside to search, and there he was, lying on the brick walkway, as if asleep.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’ll miss seeing him trot down the path toward the creek, tail waving. I’ll miss his excited puppy dance when he comes in feeling particularly frisky (as he sometimes still did). I’ll miss his diplomatic skills with visiting dogs– he’d greet them with waving tail, and escort them around the yard, as if showing them the sights. I’ll miss seeing him bestow sloppy kisses across the cat’s faces. I’ll probably even miss the occasions when we all exclaimed, “Old Yeller! What have you been rolling in?”<\/p>\n
During the past year, he’s lost sight in one eye, so there were funny moments when he’d run in to lay on the cushion beside the woodstove without noticing that it was already occupied. He’d flop down, and usually roll over on his back to wiggle around, while the cat or dog that had been dozing there struggled out from under him. He was such a good-natured old boy that no one could be crabby to him, so they forgave him quickly, and would sometimes even snuggle back beside him.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
There’s always a poem, as poets lose their beloved friends, as we all do. Two poems in particular seem fitting–<\/p>\n
Four Feet<\/strong> I have done mostly what men do, Day after day, the whole day through– Now I must go by some other round– Epitaph to a Dog<\/strong> Near this spot Requiescat in pace, Old Yeller. You were the best of dogs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" He was old and his sweet muzzle was white, but we weren’t really ready to say good-bye. But as we prepared to tuck in for the night last evening, I realized that I hadn’t seen Old Yeller for a good...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[294],"tags":[300,303],"class_list":["post-1710","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-inspiration","tag-observations","tag-poetry"],"yoast_head":"\n
\nRudyard Kipling<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAnd pushed it out of my mind;
\nBut I can’t forget, if I wanted to,
\nFour-Feet trotting behind.<\/p>\n
\nWherever my road inclined–
\nFour-Feet said, ‘I am coming with you!’
\nAnd trotted along behind.<\/p>\n
\nWhich I shall never find–
\nSome where that does not carry the sound
\nOf Four-Feet trotting behind.<\/p>\n
\nGeorge Gordon, Lord Byron<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAre deposited the Remains
\nOf one Who Possessed Beauty
\nWithout Vanity,
\nStrength without Insolence,
\nCourage without Ferocity,
\nAnd all the Virtues of Man
\nWithout his Vices.
\nThis Praise, which would be unmeaning
\nflattery If inscribed over Human Ashes,
\nIs but a just tribute to the
\nMemory of “Boatswain,” a Dog
\nWho was born at Newfoundland,
\nMay, 1803,
\nAnd died at Newstead Abbey
\nNov. 18, 1808.<\/p>\n