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Title: "BEAU"
Source:
Johnny Carson Show
URL Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUNJjIwlHk8
Published: Mar 26, 2008
Author: Jimmy Stewart
Post Date: 2008-03-26 05:21:46 by Uncle Bill
Keywords: I, Remember, When
Views: 68
Comments: 1
He never came to me when I would call When he was young Discipline was not his bag He bit lots of folks from day to day, He set the house on fire On the evening walks, and Gloria took him, He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on, But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks We are early-to-bedders at our house-- He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs, And before very long And there were nights when I'd feel him And there were nights when I'd feel this stare He would wake up at night And now he's dead. And there are nights when I think Oh, how I wish that wasn't so, 
"Beau"
by Jimmy Stewart
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
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.
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
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.
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.
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 there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
I'll always love a dog named Beau.
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#1. To: Uncle Bill (#0)
No dog should be named "Beau." Or "Princess," which was the family dog.
Scratch a leftist and you'll find a fascist or Communist or Nazi everytime.
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