In Memory of Raven

Our very lovable dog, Raven, met an untimely end last night. We are aggrieved by her death, as any pet owner would be. I can think of nothing ill of Raven. She was a great pet the seven-odd years she stayed with us. I only recently wrote of her Wasp-Whispering ways on this blog. May the other side have chipmunks to chase, garbage to spoil, and warm windows to lie beneath.

4 comments

  1. “The Housedog’s Grave”
    By Robinson Jeffers
    [American Poet 1887-1962]

    I’ve changed my ways a little, I cannot now
    Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
    Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment
    You see me there.

    So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
    Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
    And you’d soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
    The marks of my drinking-pan.

    I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
    On the warm stone,
    Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the nights through
    I lie alone.

    But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
    Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
    And where you sit to read — and I fear often grieving for me —
    Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

    You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
    To think of you ever dying.
    A little dog would get tired, living so long.
    I hope that you when you are lying

    Under the ground like me your lives will appear
    As good and joyful as mine.
    No, dears, that’s too much hope: you are not so well cared for
    As I have been.

    And never have known the passionate undivided
    Fidelities that I knew.
    Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided . . . .
    But to me you were true.

    You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
    I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
    To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
    I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

  2. I feel your pain, we recently lost our Great Dane a year ago to bloating. She was a fantastic dog and essentially gre up with my youngest daughter. To this day she is missed, she was replaced by a poodle named C.J. which I despise but my family loves, my daughter frequently mourns the loss of Meadow our dane, pets essentially become family.

  3. “The Housedog’s Grave”
    By Robinson Jeffers
    [American Poet 1887-1962]

    I’ve changed my ways a little, I cannot now
    Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
    Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment
    You see me there.

    So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
    Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
    And you’d soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
    The marks of my drinking-pan.

    I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
    On the warm stone,
    Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the nights through
    I lie alone.

    But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
    Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
    And where you sit to read — and I fear often grieving for me —
    Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

    You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
    To think of you ever dying.
    A little dog would get tired, living so long.
    I hope that you when you are lying

    Under the ground like me your lives will appear
    As good and joyful as mine.
    No, dears, that’s too much hope: you are not so well cared for
    As I have been.

    And never have known the passionate undivided
    Fidelities that I knew.
    Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided . . . .
    But to me you were true.

    You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
    I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
    To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
    I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

  4. “The Housedog’s Grave”
    By Robinson Jeffers
    [American Poet 1887-1962]

    I’ve changed my ways a little, I cannot now
    Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
    Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment
    You see me there.

    So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
    Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
    And you’d soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
    The marks of my drinking-pan.

    I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
    On the warm stone,
    Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the nights through
    I lie alone.

    But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
    Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
    And where you sit to read — and I fear often grieving for me —
    Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

    You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
    To think of you ever dying.
    A little dog would get tired, living so long.
    I hope that you when you are lying

    Under the ground like me your lives will appear
    As good and joyful as mine.
    No, dears, that’s too much hope: you are not so well cared for
    As I have been.

    And never have known the passionate undivided
    Fidelities that I knew.
    Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided . . . .
    But to me you were true.

    You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
    I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
    To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
    I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

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