POI fic: Kipling
TITLE: POI fic - Kipling
AUTHOR: whomii2
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: do not own
SUMMARY: Little dog series #7. Finch names his dog
Reese asked Finch why he had named his little dog Kipling.
“I did consider Byron, but in the end thought Kipling might be more…relevant.”
Finch hobbled over to a shelf and removed a thin volume, leafing though the pages until he found the spot he wanted. He then handed the book to John before leaving the room with his faithful shadow at his heals. After reading the selection, John quietly closed the book and returned it to the shelf. He had never doubted Finch‘s courage or heart.
In the next room, Harold cuddled his newest friend to his chest while his other friend read a book of poetry. It is worth it, he kept repeating to himself. Even if fate will inevitably take them both away from him
----------------------------------------------------------
*The poem Finch references regarding the name of his dog, and the runner up
The Power of the Dog
Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie-
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find-it’s your own affair
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will
When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone wherever it goes-for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear!
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long
So why in Heaven (before we are there!)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
Epitaph to a dog
Lord Byron
Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty
Without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over Human Ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
"Boatswain," a Dog
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808
AUTHOR: whomii2
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: do not own
SUMMARY: Little dog series #7. Finch names his dog
Reese asked Finch why he had named his little dog Kipling.
“I did consider Byron, but in the end thought Kipling might be more…relevant.”
Finch hobbled over to a shelf and removed a thin volume, leafing though the pages until he found the spot he wanted. He then handed the book to John before leaving the room with his faithful shadow at his heals. After reading the selection, John quietly closed the book and returned it to the shelf. He had never doubted Finch‘s courage or heart.
In the next room, Harold cuddled his newest friend to his chest while his other friend read a book of poetry. It is worth it, he kept repeating to himself. Even if fate will inevitably take them both away from him
----------------------------------------------------------
*The poem Finch references regarding the name of his dog, and the runner up
The Power of the Dog
Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie-
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find-it’s your own affair
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will
When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone wherever it goes-for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear!
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long
So why in Heaven (before we are there!)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
Epitaph to a dog
Lord Byron
Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty
Without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over Human Ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
"Boatswain," a Dog
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808