Rags

My chosen field in college was a Science Educator with a major in Biology. A course requiring cutting into living animals was the only one remaining to complete my mandated Biology courses. It was then I had a choice to make. I changed to Earth Science, requiring additional semesters to complete the mandated courses for that major. My advisor called me into his office and was at a loss as to why I changed my major when I was in my last semester before graduation. Explained that I could not cut into a living animal even though it meant taking additional courses. He waived the requirement and I graduated on schedule.

I was not in medical school, so did not believe the dissections were necessary, but did go through with them. However, when I taught Biology with a frog dissection required as part of state mandates, again I had a choice. Too much loss of life for students to just see inside an organism. Purchased a frog already dissected and encased in a display case. Also purchased a virtual frog dissection on the computer. Thus, state mandates were meant with one frog serving hundreds of students.

Rags by Edmund Vance Cooke

We called him “Rags.” He was just a cur,
But twice, on the Western Line,
That little old bunch of faithful fur
Had offered his life for mine.

And all that he got was bones and bread,
Or the leavings of soldier grub,
But he’d give his heart for a pat on the head,
Or a friendly tickle and rub

And Rags got home with the regiment,
And then, in the breaking away-
Well, whether they stole him, or whether he went,
I am not prepared to say.

But we mustered out, some to beer and gruel
And some to sherry and shad,
And I went back to the Sawbones School,
Where I still was an undergrad.

One day they took us budding M. D.s
To one of those institutes
Where they demonstrate every new disease
By means of bisected brutes.

They had one animal tacked and tied
And slit like a full-dressed fish,
With his vitals pumping away inside
As pleasant as one might wish.

I stopped to look like the rest, of course,
And the beast’s eyes levelled mine;
His short tail thumped with a feeble force,
And he uttered a tender whine.

It was Rags, yes, Rags! who was martyred there,
Who was quartered and crucified,
And he whined that whine which is doggish prayer
And he licked my hand and died.

And I was no better in part nor whole
Than the gang I was found among,
And his innocent blood was on the soul
Which he blessed with his dying tongue.

Well I’ve seen men go to courageous death
In the air, on sea, on land!
But only a dog would spend his breath
In a kiss for his murderer’s hand.

And if there’s no heaven for love like that,
For such four-legged fealty-well
If I have any choice, I tell you flat,
I’ll take my chance in hell.

Need tissues whenever I read “Rags”.
So, wrote an Echo to the above poem with an extended timeline …

                They call her Rags, for wherever she goes she leaves a small rag and a story …. a story of a companion who taught her the lesson of true service and forgiveness.

                My childhood days were filled with joy …. all the joy a four-legged friend could give.  I called him Rags, for his coat was a jumble of fur, completely unlike the gentle peace that reigned within.  We were close.  Wherever I went, there was Rags, ready to share those special moments and secret dreams.  Whenever I was in trouble, Rags would sit at my feet listening to every word, spoken and unspoken, until somehow, the problems of life seemed to melt away.

                 All too soon those carefree days ended, and I left to enter another world.  My chosen career was medicine, for I had dreams of curing the world’s ills through my research.  The day I left, Rags watched with soulful eyes, wondering why I was leaving him.  Yet, each time I returned home to visit, Rags was there greeting me with smiling eyes and wagging tail.  Such a companion one could search the whole world over and seldom, if ever, find.

                The time passed and I became a well-respected physician.  My research was hailed in prominent circles throughout the world.  I was successful, but I missed my loyal companion.  So, one day, I returned to my childhood home to get Rags.  He was gone.

                Returning to my laboratory, I made a final check of the preparations for my latest research.  It required several vivisections of the canine species.  There, on the last table, was Rags …. slit open, with organs pumping away in full view.  When Rags saw me, he gave a feeble thump of his tail, kissed my hand, and died.  I’ve known many who speak of loyalty and forgiveness.  But, how many would spend their “last breath in a kiss for his murderer’s hand.”

                How many times do we have to destroy before we learn?  At that moment I realized that no research, whatever the purpose, was worth the pain and suffering of any living creature.

                My footsteps now take me to places where poverty and sickness is written on the faces of the people.  It is here I use my skills to help transform some of the tears into smiles.  My name is no longer hailed in prominent circles.  But, more important, my work is written in the grateful hearts of those I serve.