There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But 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
When the 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?
Ginny Jan 12, 2009
Current mood:
sad
I am still trying to make sense of what happened, and I know that it will probably never make sense.
I blame myself. I knew better than to leave them all together unsupervised. I blame Chance. Why did he have to bite her in a vital spot. Anywhere else on her body would not have been lethal. I blame Ginny herself. I am sure that she started it.
Blame and guilt wont bring her back. Nothing will bring her back. Now I am left to try to put my family back together. How the hell am I supposed to do that. As if she were the glue that held us all together.
I dont want to think of the future without her. We had so many places to go and new things to do. I hate that she will never get to go swimming again, or chase a ball. I hate that I will never get to shave her down again in the spring, or cuddle her at night. She was only 4 and I thought that she was invincible.
I miss her.
This music reminds me of her. I thought I would add it to her blog. Its a piece by George Winston called Thanksgiving
