Science has so far been unable to tell us how self-aware dogs are, much less whether they have anything like our conscious thoughts. This is not surprising, since neither scientists nor philosophers can agree about what the consciousness of humans consists of, let alone that of animals.
I had a dog once. I thought so much of him that when he died I couldn't bear the thought of getting another in his place. He was a FRIEND__ou understand, Mistress Blythe? Matey's only a pal. I'm fond of Matey__ll the fonder on account of the spice of devilment that's in him__ike there is in all cats. But I LOVED my dog. I always had a sneaking sympathy for Alexander Elliott about HIS dog. There isn't any devil in a good dog. That's why they're more lovable than cats, I reckon.
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I had a dog once. I thought so much of him that when he died I couldn't bear the thought of getting another in his place. He was a FRIEND__ou understand, Mistress Blythe? Matey's only a pal. I'm fond of Matey__ll the fonder on account of the spice of devilment that's in him__ike there is in all cats. But I LOVED my dog. I always had a sneaking sympathy for Alexander Elliott about HIS dog. There isn't any devil in a good dog. That's why they're more lovable than cats, I reckon.
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Percy wakes me (fourteen)Percy wakes me and I am not ready.He has slept all night under the covers.Now he__ eager for action: a walk, then breakfast.So I hasten up. He is sitting on the kitchen counter Where he is not supposed to be. How wonderful you are, I say. How clever, if you Needed me, To wake me. He thought he would a lecture and deeply His eyes begin to shine.He tumbles onto the couch for more compliments.He squirms and squeals: he has done something That he needed And now he hears that it is okay. I scratch his ears. I turn him over And touch him everywhere. He isWild with the okayness of it. Then we walk, then He has breakfast, and he is happy.This is a poem about Percy.This is a poem about more than Percy.Think about it.
Fear is the original sin,_ suddenly said a still, small voice away back__ack__ack of Valancy__ consciousness. __lmost all the evil in the world has its origin in the fact that some one is afraid of something.__alancy stood up. She was still in the clutches of fear, but her soul was her own again. She would not be false to that inner voice.
It's the fools that make all the trouble in the world, not the wicked.
If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.
Neither man nor any animal can enjoy life to the full without taking some risks to life or limb.