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"SNOOKY" Died Nov 19, 1965 Wayfarer Veterinary Hospital Wm. S. Hawkins, Vet. "God maintains the identity of animals as well as of men." Madra TOM DUGGAN [[right margin note]] P.S. I love this gentleman [[/right margin note]] Love That Endureth I like animals. Name the type of animal which comes to your mind. I will find an affection for it. I can admire its grace, its beauty, or its menace. Call them wild, domesticated, dangerous, docile. See them on a prairie, in a forest, in a jungle, in a back yard, or a living room. They are quite capable of our recognized emotions of love, hate, joy, sadness and even sympathy. We marvel at the beauty of a newborn child. We think a puppy, a kitten, a bear cub, or a long-legged colt is merely "cute." The child may give us love, but in its maturity it can withdraw it. The animal's love is steadfast. Its heart will beat for you till death stops it. Lone Witness I had a favorite sketch some years ago which, unfortunately, is lost. The artist had drawn a scene of a country courtroom. It depicted a graying, elderly man sitting in the witness chair. A setter dog was beside him with his head resting on his friend's lap. The caption was in keeping with the touching and tender scene... "The only witness for the Defense." I have seen pictures and copies of accepted masterpieces. I am sure the art connoisseurs are correct in their evaluations. But it has always puzzled me that this heart-tugging sketch them. I do not know the name of my artist. Perhaps, no one does. But three things are known to me. He was an artist. He had a loving heart. He had a loving dog. Given Freely Some people sneer at the affection displayed to animals. They overlook the devotion that is immediately returned. It would be impossible to estimate how many of us, at this very moment, have full and happy lives because of the loyal presence of some small pet who does not demand affection befor it gives its own gladly. We often talk of "man's inhumanity to man." Animals can be savage. But they have little capacity for our "refined cruelty." I have a copy of a poem, called "My Dog." Its author is unknown. Apparently if you sketch a dog, or write about a dog, with any degree of sensitivity your name is doomed to oblivion. I will not try to deceive you. I have rarely been able to read this poem without crying. See why below: 'My Dog' "I wonder if Christ had a little old dog All shiny and silky like mine? And a nose round and wet With two cute little ears And two eyes brown and tender that shine. "I'm sure if He had, that that little dog Knew right from the start He was God; That he needed no proof that Christ was device, And just worshipped the ground where He trod. "I'm afraid that He hadn't, because I have read, How He prayed in the garden alone. For all of His friends and disciples had fled Even Peter, the one called a stone. "And oh! I am sure, that that little dog, With a heart so tender and warm Would never have left Him to suffer alone But creeping right under His arm Would have licked the dear fingers, In agony clasped, and counting all favors but loss, When they took Him away Would have trotted behind, And followed Him right to the cross!!! [[right margin note]] Send me March 28 1966 by Marguerete St. Clair a lover of dogs "Trixie" her dog that died [[/right margin note]]
