Upon walking a moonlit field after a great battle, Napoleon Bonaparte, on finding a dog beside the body of his dead master licking his face and howling:
"This soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his loyal dog. I had looked on, unmoved, at battles which decided the future of nations. Tearless, I had given orders which brought death to thousands. Yet here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred to tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog."
Perhaps it is best that our beloved pets pre-decease us for the alternative is just too grim to contemplate
I think it quite consoling.
1 comment:
Was 'Ol Bony' sure that this dog belonged to this soldier- anecdotal evidence at best. Mayhap he should have contemplated that said hound was basting prior to consumption. If that French cunt could have tarried a while, he might have been able to distinguish between the two proposals. But no, he had to fuck off and gorge on volevants (can't spell) and fancy pastries. By the way, he was 6 feet 5 inches in height. On St Helena, he couldn't get any French cuisine and had to subsist on Pig's pud and mushy peas; true story.
So, you have returned from whence you tarried. No doubt still in thrall of George. Do you still come to mine? Check it out. It has evolved. An occasional comment would be welcome. I miss our tussles.
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