In an email some time ago, I received a poem called, "Dog Prayer," author unknown. The poem is a sad tale of a dog, passed around and abused. I have taken the poem and created a story-poem from the material. If any one knows who the author of the original poem is, please let me know and I will give credit to whom credit is due. I will send the author a copy of this poem, too, in appreciation.………Let me add. This poem is quite different from the original, but I still would like to thank the unknown author for the material provided, which gave me the inspiration to write this story-poem.

I was born in the summer a few years ago. Quite why I was born, I may never know. It was some kind of "puppy mill", where my mother was kept. It was crowded and dirty, where many dogs slept.

The owners of Mother were consumed by their greed. They figured much money could be made from her breed. In the years they had owned her she'd had many-a-pup. So what they now saw was great wealth piling up. But never a care did they give for their dogs. They kept them in sheds made of rotten old logs.

I entered the world, along with sisters and brothers. We snuggled up close to be warmed by our mother. But soon mother died, and my siblings did, too. I was left all, alone, dejected and blue. I recall being hungry, and I know I was cold. I was sold quite soon after. I was just five weeks old.

I was bought by a couple who seemed friendly at first. Life went along smoothly. Then my first "bubble" burst. They started to argue; their marriage split up. And then the Ad read: "For Sale: A young pup."

An old couple arrived. These folks looked quite kind. They treated me wonderfully, and life was just fine. But then the man died, and she couldn't cope. So she sold me again. I was giving up hope!

I now had a new home--high in the sky. It was an apartment, fourteen stories high. The new folks were kind, but they left me all day. I was bursting to pee and had nowhere to play. It was boredom, I know, made me chew up the chair. They decided to sell me. Now that just wasn't fair!

The next home was great! And I thought, "This is it"! They started to "show" me, and I won--a small bit. But then someone said, "He's too thin in the bone." And in went the Ad: "For Sale: to good home."

The next folks were dreadful. They told me to "guard." But I didn't know how; although I tried hard. One night they got robbed, and I didn't bark. I was tied up in a shed, all alone in the dark.

For five months I lived in that shed, cold and the dank, with a bed of old sawdust strewn over a plank. They'd throw me a handful of leftover grub—not fit for a pig, nor even a slug. The water they gave me was all slimy and green. To believe my conditions, you would have to have seen!

If a dog could but pray, my prayer would have been. "Please give me some warmth, and good food now and then. Or take me away from this life full of grief. Is there no happiness? No joy? No relief?"

And then something happened. Was my prayer really heard? Was this the answer? Or am I being absurd? For now I'm with RESCUE. This new home is good. I can roam in the country. There is lots of good food. I get kisses and cuddles, and happy greetings each day—But am I here permanently? Or will they send me away?

If a dog could say words, and if a dog could but pray; please listen, and I'll tell you the words I would say: "I will try to be good. I won't chew on up your clothes. I will sit very quietly, as you tell me your woes. I want to stay with you--a heart on all fours. Please! Won't you adopt me? I want to be yours."

Helen Dowd (This version)