My Little White Dog

My little white dog died last Monday. He was the perfect dog for my sister and me, and we will forever miss him. It’s been a difficult week, but each day gets a little bit easier as we deal with our loss.

Those of you who are “dog people” understand. Those of you who aren’t, I can’t explain to you how sad it is to lose one.

Notice his Carolina Panthers pillow in the background.

He was a rescue dog, and we’ll never understand how his former family turned him out to fend for himself in a city until he was picked up by the county’s animal control personnel. He was rescued from the animal shelter by a dog rescue organization, and it was through that organization that this sweet little white dog adopted my sister and me.

He took us on as his project. I guess we were his “purpose.” He helped us do everything and was our constant companion and caregiver. I think he thought we were helpless, and that’s why it was so hard for him to let go last Monday afternoon.

He was so proud the day in 2014 when my vintage postcard book, The Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina arrived!

I tried to determine if the poem, “My Little White Dog,” by Nell Gay White was in the public domain, but I couldn’t find any information about Ms. White or her poem. I’m going out on a limb here and sharing that poem with you today. I copied it years ago because it touched my heart. I didn’t even have a little white dog at that time, but the one pictured in this blog post has given my sister and me joy every single day of the last eight and one-half years.

My Little White Dog, by Nell Gay White

“I wonder if Christ had a little white dog,

All curly and wooly like mine,

With two silly ears and a nose round and wet,

And two tender brown eyes that shine?

“I’m sure if he had, that little white dog

Knew right from the first he was God.

He needed no proof that Christ was divine –

But just worshipped the ground where he trod.

“I’m afraid that he hadn’t because I have read

That 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 a little white 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 those dear fingers, in agony clasped,

And counting all favors but loss ,

When they took him away, would have trotted behind

And followed him quite to the Cross.”

Just chillin’ on the sofa

Until my next blog post

Take care of yourself.