Dogs Are Better Than People...Ask Jimmy Stewart

[I published this a while back but have had more subscribers since then. So I figured I’d put this out again because, well, why not? So long as dogs walk among us, we will always be reminded of the good things in life.]
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Not everything I write about is serious or tied to world events. Some things just jump out at me and I feel the need to share. Call this a lazy post, but sometimes others just say things so much better than I ever can.

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I think that’s the case here. I know many of my subscribers are dog owners or, if like me, have had dogs over the years and understand their intrinsic goodness. Indeed, as one of my friends likes to say, “Dogs are better than people.” I think there is a lot of truth to that. And here is one example of why that is.

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Anyone who’s been around for awhile remembers the great Jimmy Stewart as an actor. But he was also a decorated combat veteran. In fact, he flew twenty missions over Nazi Germany in a vulnerable bomber, braving anti-aircraft and Luftwaffe fighters, while fighting his way to bomb Berlin, Schweinfurt, and other targets…these were hardly what they called “milk runs” but very dangerous missions in which many an Allied bomber were shot down and their crews lost.

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When he came back from the war, his first movie in 1946 was It’s A Wonderful Life. In it, there’s a scene where his character, George Bailey, is at the end of his emotional tether. He sits at a bar, unable to face his family, on Christmas Eve and says a quiet prayer of desperation to God begging him to “show me the way.” The tears Stewart shed and the tremoring in his hands we see was great acting for sure. But much of it was not an act. In fact, he was at the time suffering from serious PTSD and it shows here.

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So what does this have to do with dogs you ask? As I allude to another article, Stewart would often appear on The Tonight Show (when it was a show for every American and not just the TDS-infected) and read his poetry. (My mom actually gave me his book of poems as a gift once…Marge always knew what I loved, but I digress). And of all his poems, by far the most touching was his 1981 poem “Beau”. About his recently deceased dog.

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Here was a bona fide decorated combat veteran who saw a lot of pain and terror during the war. And yet…Stewart never lost his ability to love the good things in his life. As any canine lover knows, no other animal can be such a great companion, such an integral part of person’s life than a dog. And so, when he came on Carson in July 1981 to read a poem in homage to Beau, he pulled out all the stops. If you don’t choke up, then you need to get yourself a dog to understand just how much this very tough man beneath the genteel exterior understood.

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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 rosebush 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's long to tell.
Suffice 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.

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,
And 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 pat his head.
And there were nights when I'd feel his stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I'd reach out to stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh and I think I know the reason why.

He'd wake up at night
And he 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 up on our bed and lie between us,
And I'd pat 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 Beau.