"The one absolutely unselfish
friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never
proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. A man's dog stands by
him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He
will sleep on the cold ground where the wintry winds blow and the
snow drives fiercely, if only he may be by his master's side. He
will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the sores
and wounds that come in encounters with the roughness of the world.
He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince.
When all other friends desert,
he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces,
he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the
heavens. If misfortune drives the master forth an outcast in the
world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher
privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to
fight against his enemies.
And when the last scene of all
comes, and death takes the master in its embrace, and his body is
laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue
their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his
head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness,
faithful and true, even in death."

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