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Thinking about dogs this morning.
Perhaps unsurprisingly.
About the earliest dog who's name we know - Abuwtiyuw - and how we only know his name, not his master's.
His human buried him with honor, and inscribed the name on his tomb, to let the ages know he was a good boy.
Perhaps unsurprisingly.
About the earliest dog who's name we know - Abuwtiyuw - and how we only know his name, not his master's.
His human buried him with honor, and inscribed the name on his tomb, to let the ages know he was a good boy.
"His Majesty ordered that he be buried, that he be given a coffin from the royal treasury, fine linen in great quantity, incense. [...] His Majesty did this for him in order that [Abuwtiyuw] might be Honoured (before the great god, Anubis)."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abuwtiyuw
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abuwtiyuw
Thinking about grief, and how it hits harder with beloved animals. How it always has.
About the roadside graves of dogs in Greece, with their epitaphs.
https://laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com/2006/05/ancient-dog-epitaphs.html
About the roadside graves of dogs in Greece, with their epitaphs.
https://laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com/2006/05/ancient-dog-epitaphs.html
Thou who passest on this path,
If haply thou dost mark this monument,
Laugh not, I pray thee, though it is a dog's grave.
Tears fell for me, and the dust was heaped above me
By a master's hand.
If haply thou dost mark this monument,
Laugh not, I pray thee, though it is a dog's grave.
Tears fell for me, and the dust was heaped above me
By a master's hand.
Here the stone says it holds the white dog from Melita, the most faithful guardian of Eumelus;
Bull they called him while he was yet alive; but now his voice is prisoned in the silent pathways of night.
Bull they called him while he was yet alive; but now his voice is prisoned in the silent pathways of night.
Surely even as thou liest dead in this tomb I deem the wild beasts yet fear thy white bones, huntress Lycas;
and thy valour great Pelion knows, and splendid Ossa and the lonely peaks of Cithaeron.
and thy valour great Pelion knows, and splendid Ossa and the lonely peaks of Cithaeron.
"This is the tomb of the dog, Stephanos, who perished,
Whom Rhodope shed tears for and buried like a human."
"I am the dog Stephanos, and Rhodope set up a tomb for me."
The small sarcophagus was found near the inscribed sarcophagus of Rhodope herself.
Whom Rhodope shed tears for and buried like a human."
"I am the dog Stephanos, and Rhodope set up a tomb for me."
The small sarcophagus was found near the inscribed sarcophagus of Rhodope herself.
I'm not crying about dogs that died thousands of years ago that would be r i d i c u l o u s.
I am in tears, while carrying you to your last resting place as much as I rejoiced when bringing you home in my own hands fifteen years ago.
"My eyes were wet with tears, our little dog, when I bore thee (to the grave)... So, Patricus, never again shall thou give me a thousand kisses. Never canst thou be contentedly in my lap. In sadness have I buried thee, and thou deservist." 1/
"In a resting place of marble, I have put thee for all time by the side of my shade. In thy qualities, sagacious thou wert like a human being. Ah, me! What a loved companion have we lost!" 2/2
"To Helena, foster child, soul without comparison and deserving of praise."
"Myia never barked without reason, but now he is silent."
Oh heck, there was even more for Patricus.
"Thou, sweet Patricus, wert wont to come to our table, and in my lap to ask for bits in thy flattering way. It was they way to lick with eager tongue the dish which oft my hands held up to thee, the whilst thy tail didst show thy joy."
"Thou, sweet Patricus, wert wont to come to our table, and in my lap to ask for bits in thy flattering way. It was they way to lick with eager tongue the dish which oft my hands held up to thee, the whilst thy tail didst show thy joy."
I've heard people argue that tending for our sick - the signs of a healed broken bone, in ancient hominids - is the first sign of civilization.
If so, I think this is right up there with it. "Here is a beloved thing, not like me, but part of my heart." https://twitter.com/gwenckatz/status/1333446320464400384
If so, I think this is right up there with it. "Here is a beloved thing, not like me, but part of my heart." https://twitter.com/gwenckatz/status/1333446320464400384
The only rational response, tbh. https://twitter.com/carpethefish/status/1333446535846105089
Challah was a Golden Retriever, the gentlest dog you ever met. Wanted to be friends with cats.
He would nip at flies, to play with them - but if he ever caught one, he'd prod it, mournfully, on the ground, trying to make it get up again.
He was a very good boy. I miss him.
He would nip at flies, to play with them - but if he ever caught one, he'd prod it, mournfully, on the ground, trying to make it get up again.
He was a very good boy. I miss him.
Ruben lived to be 18, and was the constant companion of a little boy roaming the Carolina woods.
He could open doors and latches, and would go off on adventures - he carried a load of buckshot in his ass his entire life from one of them.
He was a very good boy. I miss him.
He could open doors and latches, and would go off on adventures - he carried a load of buckshot in his ass his entire life from one of them.
He was a very good boy. I miss him.
When Challah died, we buried him in the hollow formed by an ancient tree, uprooted by a hurricane. We put a cheap plaster gargoyle over it. He still guards those woods.
When Ruben died, he was laid to rest on Guam, where even at 18 he'd amble down the beach to sniff tide pools.
When Ruben died, he was laid to rest on Guam, where even at 18 he'd amble down the beach to sniff tide pools.
"Issa's more pert than Lesbia's sparrow love, Purer than kisses of a turtle-dove, More sweet than hundred maidens rolled in one, Rarer than wealthy India's precious stone. She is the pet of Publius, Issa dear; She whines, a human voice you seem to hear."
I'll end on Byron.
Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence
Courage without Ferosity
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence
Courage without Ferosity
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead November 18th 1808
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead November 18th 1808
When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown to Glory but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
/
Unknown to Glory but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
/
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Masters own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnotic'd all his worth,
Deny'd in heaven the Soul he held on earth.
/
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Masters own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnotic'd all his worth,
Deny'd in heaven the Soul he held on earth.
/
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debas'd by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
/
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debas'd by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
/
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy words deceit,
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on, it honours none you wish to mourn.
/
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy words deceit,
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on, it honours none you wish to mourn.
/
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise,
I never knew but one — and here he lies.
I never knew but one — and here he lies.
I agree.
And if there is a heaven, without dogs, then it is a contradiction in terms.
I'm gonna go definitely not cry somewhere, now. Definitely. /end
And if there is a heaven, without dogs, then it is a contradiction in terms.
I'm gonna go definitely not cry somewhere, now. Definitely. /end
Let it be known that they were good dogs. https://twitter.com/SublimeFustians/status/1333453108639358976
I just sobbed, and Ruth un-loafed to put a paw on me.
So that's my heart overflowing.
So that's my heart overflowing.
Torazzo was a farm dog, a spotted mutt. He would play with the cows - they'd lower their heads, he'd run at them, and they'd flip him as high into the air as they could.
Because farm dogs, y'all.
Because farm dogs, y'all.
Sam was a Carolina Dog, more than a bit of wolf in her somewhere. She belonged "to the neighborhood," and considered all of us her human.
She'd let herself in to your kitchen, and then dig at the floor "for treats."
She was a good dog.
She'd let herself in to your kitchen, and then dig at the floor "for treats."
She was a good dog.
