Pete bristles when the doorbell rings. <br /> Last night he didn't act the same. <br />Dogs have a way of knowin' things, <br /> An' when the dreaded cable came, <br />He looked at mother an' he whined <br /> His soft, low sign of somethin' wrong, <br />As though he knew that we should find <br /> The news that we had feared so long. <br /> <br />He's followed me about the place <br /> An' hasn't left my heels to-day; <br />He's rubbed his nose against my face <br /> As if to kiss my grief away. <br />There on his plate beside the door <br /> You'll see untouched his mornin' meal. <br />I never understood before <br /> That dogs share every hurt you feel. <br /> <br />We've got the pride o' service fine <br /> As consolation for the blow; <br />We know by many a written line <br /> He went the way he wished to go. <br />We know that God an' Country found <br /> Our boy a servant brave an' true- <br />But Pete must sadly walk around <br /> An' miss the master that he knew. <br /> <br />The mother's bearing up as well <br /> As such a noble mother would; <br />The hurt I feel I needn't tell- <br /> I guess by all it's understood. <br />But Pete- his dog- that used to wait <br /> Each night to hear his cheery call, <br />An' romped about him at the gate, <br /> Has felt the blow the worst of all.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-dog/
