No ledger kept by mortal mind has marked a crime that dogs have done,
No ancient court has named them foe nor cast their kind from hearth or land;
For through the long domesticked years since first our wandering tribes were one,
They chose our fire, our fields, our roads, and walked beside the human band.
They guard the door where children sleep, they track the lost through wood and fen,
They serve with shepherds on the hills and police in danger’s sudden cry;
Through fire and storm their courage holds as firm as any sworn of men,
With loyal hearts that never weigh the cost nor ask the reason why.
That’s why on the fells, when winter roared and iron winds drove blinding snow,
An old shepherd bent against the gale while drifts erased the narrow track;
His two good collies ranged ahead where only faithful noses go,
And found two lambs beneath the drift and clawed the frozen whiteness back.
Thus tale and trial both proclaim what patient centuries have shown:
Companions wise, steadfast and kind through labour, watch, and wandering roam;
If love and service be their creed, long proved where harsher winds have blown,
Then little wonder Western hearts still welcome dogs beside the home.
(By John Shenton)