Dogs know

Dogs know, if men do not, that dogs and men are close, perhaps too much sometimes, and they do not prattle of their deep wisdom, but it’s the truth and what they have to know. Truth and what they give. Even if they do not wish, they must, and follow at a heel, and haunt a doorstep, and cry when we are gone, or roll in the dust. To entertain us, yielding up a paw into a hand. They whine because the throat cannot articulate, and even plead for man’s forgiving on an anguished note, when the legs cannot move fast enough, or faults of clumsiness and frolic seem to raise human wrath. O, we are given much by these little beasts who aggravate our days with their absurdities and ignorance, their jealous faithfulness, their eyes that tell as if man were stripped to bone, had nothing more, and found bare. He still would find his dog beside him there, to give him comfort, and to tell him then, how good and splendid is the race of men. Perhaps the only error and the lie, DOGS TELL TO MEN. 

(Author unknown)