Hobo Haven

We adopted Hobo, a stray, from the local shelter shortly after we moved to our rural New Hampshire property.  The shelter told us he was a 4-month old Doberman/Hound mix, but when we brought him to our vet to be neutered the following day, we discovered he was a mature adult.  After spending some time together, our best guess is that he was someone's rabbit dog; probably a beagle/vizsla mix.  At 35 lbs., he was a lot of dog in a little package, but he always looked like a puppy.  He was the smartest dog I ever met; he had an incredible vocabulary, and it was hard for a family of novice dog owners to stay one step ahead of him.  We love you and miss you Hobo.

To A Dog

On every side I see your trace;
         Your water-trough's scare dry;
Your empty collar in its place
     Provokes the heavy sigh.

And you were here two days ago.
There's little changed, I see.
   The sun is just as bright, but oh!
The difference to me!

The very print of your small pad
Is on the whitened stone.
Where, by what ways, or sad or glad,
Do you fare on alone?

Oh, little face, so merry-wise,
Brisk feet and eager bark!
The house is lonesome for your eyes,
My spirit somewhat dark.

Now, small, invinc'ble friend, your love
Is done, your fighting o'er,
No more your wandering feet will rove
Beyond your own house-door.

The cats that feared, their hearts are high,
The dogs that loved will gaze
Long, long ere you come passing by
With all your jovial ways.

Th' accursed archer who has sent
His arrow all to true,
Would that his evil days were spent
Ere he took aim at you!

Your honest face, your winsome ways
Haunt me, dear little ghost,
And everywhere I see your trace,
Oh, well-beloved and lost!

             Anonymous      

 Buckarooo

Charley

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