No other type of pet has such a special relationship with humans; our best friends teach us loyalty, recklessness, and caring. Soak up the warmth of his fellow companionship with this special collection of pet quotes. This page of poems about dogs deals with our relationship, celebrate friendship, while others cover death and grief.
10 Poems About Dogs
I am quite sure he thinks that I am God—
Since he is God on whom each one depends
For life, and all things that his bounty sends—
My dear old dog, most constant of all friends;
Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I
To him whom God I know and own; his eye,
Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod;
He is more patient underneath the rod
Than I, when God his wise corrections sends.
He looks love at me deep as words e’er spake,
And from me never crumb or sup will take
But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail.
And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear
He is content and quiet if I’m near,
Secure that my protection will prevail!
So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he
Tells me what I unto my God should be.
William Croswell Doane
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THAT THERE LONG DOG
Funniest little feller
You’d ever want to see!
Browner ‘an the brownest leaf
In the autumn tree.
Shortest little bow legs!
Jes’ barely touch the floor—
And long—b’gosh, the longest dog
I ever seen afore!
But he’s mighty amusin’,
For all ‘at he’s so queer,
Eyes so mighty solemn,
Askin’ like an’ clear,
And when he puts his paws up,
Head stuck on one side—
Jes’ naturally love every hair
In his durn Dutch hide.
Alice Gill Ferguson
THE LITTLE WHITE DOG
Little white dog with the meek brown eyes,
Tell me the boon that most you prize.
Would a juicy bone meet your heart’s desire?
Or a cozy rug by a blazing fire?
Or a sudden race with a truant cat?
Or a gentle word? Or a friendly pat?
Is the worn-out ball you have always near
The dearest of all the things held dear?
Or is the home you left behind
The dream of bliss to your doggish mind?
But the little white dog just shook his head
As if “None of these are best,” he said.
A boy’s clear whistle came from the street;
There’s a wag of the tail and a twinkle of feet,
And the little white dog did not even say,
“Excuse me, ma’am,” as he scampered away;
But I’m sure as can be his greatest joy
Is just to trot behind that boy.
May Ellis Nichols
THE BEST FRIEND
If I was sad, then he had grief, as well—
Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw,
Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw
More than my halting, human speech could tell;
Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate—
Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate.
If I made merry—then how he would strive
To show his joy; “Good master, let’s to play,
The world is ours,” that gladsome bark would say; ”
Just yours and mine—’tis fun to be alive!”
Our world … four walls above the city’s din,
My crutch the bar that ever held us in.
Whate’er my mood—the fretful word, or sweet,
The swift command, the wheedling undertone,
His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone,
His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet:
Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed,
Ye taught me trust when man’s dull logic failed.
The world had all gone wrong that day
And tired and in despair,
Discouraged with the ways of life,
I sank into my chair.
A soft caress fell on my cheek,
My hands were thrust apart.
And two big sympathizing eyes
Gazed down into my heart.
I had a friend; what cared I now
For fifty worlds? I knew
One heart was anxious when I grieved—
My dog’s heart, loyal, true.
“God bless him,” breathed I soft and low,
And hugged him close and tight.
One lingering lick upon my ear
And we were happy—quite.
Our Towser is the finest dog that ever wore a collar,
We wouldn’t sell him—no, indeed—not even for a dollar!
I understand his language now, ’cause honest, it appears
That dogs can talk, and say a lot, with just their tails and ears.
When I come home from school he meets me with a joyous bound,
And shakes that long tail sideways, down and up, and round and round.
Pa says he’s going to hang a rug beside the door to see
If Towser will not beat it while he’s busy greeting me.
Then when he sees me get my hat, but thinks he cannot go,
His ears get limp, his tail drops down, and he just walks off—slow;
Though if I say the magic words: “Well, Towser, want to come?”
Why, say! You’d know he answered “Yes,” although at speech he’s dumb.
Poems about dogs by Marion Hovey Briggs
THE BEST DOG
Yes, I went to see the bow-wows, and I looked at every one,
Proud dogs of each breed and strain that’s underneath the sun;
But not one could compare with—you may hear it with surprise—
A little yellow dog I know that never took a prize.
Not that they would have skipped him when they gave the ribbons out,
Had there been a class to fit him—though his lineage is in doubt.
No judge of dogs could e’er resist the honest, faithful eyes
Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.
Suppose he wasn’t trained to hunt, and never killed a rat,
And isn’t much on tricks or looks or birth—well, what of that?
That might be said of lots of folks whom men call great and wise,
As well as of that yellow dog that never took a prize.
It isn’t what a dog can do, or what a dog may be,
That hits a man. It’s simply this—does he believe in me?
And by that test I know there’s not the compeer ‘neath the skies
Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.
Oh, he’s the finest little pup that ever wagged a tail,
And followed man with equal joy to Congress or to jail.
I’m going to start a special show—’Twill beat the world for size—
For faithful little yellow dogs, and each shall have a prize.
A GUARDIAN AT THE GATE
The dog beside the threshold lies,
Mocking sleep with half-shut eyes—
With head crouched down upon his feet,
Till strangers pass his sunny seat—
Then quick he pricks his ears to hark
And bustles up to growl and bark;
While boys in fear stop short their song,
And sneak in startled speed along;
And beggar, creeping like a snail,
To make his hungry hopes prevail
O’er the warm heart of charity,
Leaves his lame halt and hastens by.
THE PASSING OF A DOG
This kindly friend of mine who’s passed
Beyond the realm of day,
Beyond the realm of darkling night,
To unknown bourne away
Was one who deemed my humble home
A palace grand and fair;
Whose fullest joy it was to find
His comrade ever there.
Ah! He has gone from out my life
Like some dear dream I knew.
A man may own a hundred dogs,
But one he loves, and true.
Here is a friend who proves his worth
Without conceit or pride of birth.
Let want or plenty play the host,
He gets the least and gives the most—
He’s just a dog.
He’s ever faithful, kind and true;
He never questions what I do,
And whether I may go or stay,
He’s always ready to obey
‘Cause he’s a dog.
Such meager fare his want supplies!
A hand caress, and from his eyes
There beams more love than mortals know;
Meanwhile he wags his tail to show
That he’s my dog.
He watches me all through the day,
And nothing coaxes him away;
And through the night-long slumber deep
He guards the home wherein I sleep—
And he’s a dog.
I wonder if I’d be content
To follow where my master went,
And where he rode—as needs he must—
Would I run after in his dust
Like other dogs.
How strange if things were quite reversed—
The man debased, the dog put first.
I often wonder how ‘twould be
Were he the master ‘stead of me—
And I the dog.
A world of deep devotion lies
Behind the windows of his eyes;
Yet love is only half his charm—
He’d die to shield my life from harm.
Yet he’s a dog.
If dogs were fashioned out of men
What breed of dog would I have been?
And would I e’er deserve caress,
Or be extolled for faithfulness
Like my dog here?
As mortals go, how few possess
Of courage, trust, and faithfulness
Enough from which to undertake,
Without some borrowed traits, to make
A decent dog!
Poems about dogs by Joseph M. Anderson
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