Emilyg, from the both of us - me and my close associate Duke - we want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for all of your hard, VERY ACCURATE work. Duke wants to share his favorite dog story with you that he heard and saw on the Johnny Carson show a few years back - hope you enjoy it.Actor Jimmy Stewarts Poem About His Dog Named BoRead By Mr. Stewart On The Johnny Carson Show
He never came to me when I would call – unless I had a tennis ball – or he felt like it.
But, mostly he didn’t come at all.
When he was young he never learned to heel, or sit, or stay.
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag.
But, when you were with him – things sure didn’t drag.
He’d dig up a rose bush just to spite me, and when I’d grab him – he’d turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day.
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn’t read our meter.
He said we owned a real man eater.
He set the house on fire. But the story is long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived, and the house survived as well.
And on evening walks – and Gloria took him – he was always first out the door.
The old one and I brought up the rear because our bones were sore.
And he’d charge up the street with mom hanging on – what a beautiful pair they were.
And if it was still light and the tourists were out – they created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while he’d stop in his tracks, and with a frown on his face, look around.
It was just to make sure that the old one was there – to follow him where he was bound.
We’re early-to-bedders in our house I guess, I’m the first to retire.
And as I’d leave the room, he’d look at me and get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs.
I’d give him one for a while, and he’d push it under the bed with his nose.
And I’d dig it out with a smile.
But before very long he’d tire of the ball, and he’d be asleep in his corner in no time at all.
And there were nights when I’d feel him climb up on our bed and lie between us.
And I’d pet his head.
And there were nights when I’d feel this stare.
And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there.
And I’d reach out to stroke his hair.
And sometimes I would feel him sigh.
And I think I know the reason why.
He’d wake up at night and would have this fear – of the dark, of life, of lots of things.
And he’d be glad to have me near.
And now he’s dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him climb upon our bed and lie between us.
And I pet his head.
And there are nights when I think I feel that stare.
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair, and he’s not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn’t so.
I’ll always love a dog named Bo.