The Dog

Published on April 3, 2025

I like a dog at my feet when I read,
Whatever his size or whatever his breed.
A dog now and then that will nuzzle my hand
As though I were the greatest of men in the land,
And trying to tell me it’s pleasant to be
On such intimate terms with a fellow like me.

I like a dog at my side when I eat,
I like to give him a bit of my meat;
And though mother objects and insists it is bad
To let dogs in the dining room, still I am glad
To behold him stretched out on the floor by my chair.
It’s cheering to see such a faithful friend there.

A dog leads a curious life at the best.
By the wag of his tail is his pleasure expressed.
He pays a high tribute to man when he stays
True to his friend to the end of his days.
And I wonder sometimes if it happens to be
That dogs pay no heed of the faults which men see.

Should I prove a failure; should I stoop to wrong;
Be weak at a time when I should have been strong;
Should I lose my money, the gossips would sneer
And fill with my blundering many an ear,
But still, as I opened my door, I should see
My dog wag his tail with a welcome for me.

Edgar A. Guest

I saw this poem while browsing a poetry shop in Porto. Upon walking into the entrance, I was a little surprised to see a black Terrier sitting quietly atop an armchair, staring intently at me. It padded smoothly to the entrance and settled beside the doorframe, its eyes fixed on the cobblestone streets. Streaks of grey lined across the back of its fur making it look much older than it probably was. The terrier didn’t bark, didn’t flinch. Just sat there like a small, silent gatekeeper. Not guarding anything in particular, but almost existing as part of the doorway itself — like a stone Komainu standing watch at the edge of a forgotten temple. It then quietly lay its head on the floor, eyes still fixed on the streets. I found him rather calming.

Sometimes I do think about what goes through a dog’s mind as it goes about its day. For humans, we’re so used to writing, reading and speaking that we often think in terms of natural language. At least for me, I find that when thinking about something I often talk to myself in my head. Only for instinctive actions (like reaching to grab something or opening the door) do I not need to consciously process what I plan to do. So from the dog’s perspective, as it’s not quite capable of natural language, I wonder if its daily life is dominated by these instinctual thoughts. When it sees its owner (and clearly there is a sense of attachment), what drives the dog to run up happily to its owner and play with him? You could probably quantify in some way intelligence across the animal kingdom, and I wonder how between species of varying intelligence their perception of the world changes. But regardless of what anyone says about the dog’s intelligence, there was a kind of peace in the way it simply watched the street, as if being there was enough.