THE SAINT BERNARD
Anyone, who has owned and loved one, knows what a magnificent dog a Saint Bernard is and knows of the great enjoyment you experience when you have the opportunity to share your life with one. And that is exactly what life with a Saint is - shared! A Saint Bernard is a people dog - they love human companionship. They are not the type of dog to be relegated to the back yard with little contact with the family. They are extremely loyal to and protective of their human family and are good with children. When you live with a Saint Bernard you live with a very unique dog - they are big, strong, imposing animals yet are very soft and gentle in nature and each has their own individual personality traits to be admired and range from calm to lively.
However, a Saint Bernard is not suitable for every family or every lifestyle. Therefore please take the time to use this website to find out exactly what owning a Saint entails. It is designed to help you with the process of finding a breeder and selecting a puppy. And remember: a pet is for life - it is a huge responsibility and you need to be prepared!
However, a Saint Bernard is not suitable for every family or every lifestyle. Therefore please take the time to use this website to find out exactly what owning a Saint entails. It is designed to help you with the process of finding a breeder and selecting a puppy. And remember: a pet is for life - it is a huge responsibility and you need to be prepared!
THE LOST CHILD
Anonymous short story: Dog of St. Bernard
An interesting and affecting story is told of two of these brave dogs having once saved the life of a little boy
who had lost his way on the mountain.
I.
It was a clear, cold, winter night,
The heavens all brightly starred,
Where on Mount Bernard’s snowy height
The good monks kept their guard.
And round their hearth, that night, they told
To one who shelter craved,
How the brave dog, he thought so old,
Full forty lives had saved;
When, suddenly, with kindling eye,
Up sprang the old dog there,
As from afar a child’s shrill cry
Rung through the frosty air.
In haste the monks unbarred the door,
Rugs round the mastiffs threw;
And as they bounded forth once more,
Called, “Blessings be with you!”
II.
They hurried headlong down the hill,
Past many a snow-wreath wild,
Until the older guide stood still
Beside a sleeping child.
He licked the little icy hand
With his rough, kindly tongue;
With his warm breath he gently fanned
The tresses fair and long.
The child looked up, with eyes of blue,
As if the whole he guessed;
His arms around the dog he threw,
And sunk again to rest.
Once more he woke, and wrapped him fast
In the warm covering sent;
The dogs then with their charge, at last,
Up the steep mountain went.
III.
The fire glowed bright with heaped-up logs,
Each monk brought forth a light;
“Good dogs!” they cried, “good dogs, good dogs!
Whom bring you here to-night?”
In, with a joyous bound, they come--
The boy awoke and smiled:
“Ah me!” the stranger cried, “some home
Mourneth for thee, fair child!”
With morning light, the monks and boy
Sought where the village lay--
I dare not try to paint the joy
Their coming gave that day.
“If sweet,” the brethren said, “to see
Such gladness shed around,
What wondrous joy in Heaven must be,
When a lost child is found!”
Submitted to the Club's
Songs Of Saints in 2011
by
J & T Clapham
who had lost his way on the mountain.
I.
It was a clear, cold, winter night,
The heavens all brightly starred,
Where on Mount Bernard’s snowy height
The good monks kept their guard.
And round their hearth, that night, they told
To one who shelter craved,
How the brave dog, he thought so old,
Full forty lives had saved;
When, suddenly, with kindling eye,
Up sprang the old dog there,
As from afar a child’s shrill cry
Rung through the frosty air.
In haste the monks unbarred the door,
Rugs round the mastiffs threw;
And as they bounded forth once more,
Called, “Blessings be with you!”
II.
They hurried headlong down the hill,
Past many a snow-wreath wild,
Until the older guide stood still
Beside a sleeping child.
He licked the little icy hand
With his rough, kindly tongue;
With his warm breath he gently fanned
The tresses fair and long.
The child looked up, with eyes of blue,
As if the whole he guessed;
His arms around the dog he threw,
And sunk again to rest.
Once more he woke, and wrapped him fast
In the warm covering sent;
The dogs then with their charge, at last,
Up the steep mountain went.
III.
The fire glowed bright with heaped-up logs,
Each monk brought forth a light;
“Good dogs!” they cried, “good dogs, good dogs!
Whom bring you here to-night?”
In, with a joyous bound, they come--
The boy awoke and smiled:
“Ah me!” the stranger cried, “some home
Mourneth for thee, fair child!”
With morning light, the monks and boy
Sought where the village lay--
I dare not try to paint the joy
Their coming gave that day.
“If sweet,” the brethren said, “to see
Such gladness shed around,
What wondrous joy in Heaven must be,
When a lost child is found!”
Submitted to the Club's
Songs Of Saints in 2011
by
J & T Clapham
DARK EYES
By Bruce N. Chapman
|
I
You sit silently Looking into those dark, trusting eyes. Softly you scratch him. The head cocks appreciatively And he makes a deep Almost purring sound. So much contentment From so little effort. Sitting there beside him. He is larger than life, Truly enormous And yet so gentle You cannot help but see He is worthy of his name, For in all respects He is a Saint. II Years after he is gone You will remember Those dark trusting eyes Into which you first looked When he was young. They glittered then with a devilment Born of curiosity - Nothing would escape him. He was to smell and taste of everything, A world rich in sights and sounds - So many strange and delectable odours. What a fine place For a young Saint to explore What a splendid way To carry on with the excitement And joy of being a dog. He would smell and chew And chase and bark Each and every light-long day Into the night And you would sit and watch Sharing many a joyful discovery. What treasures then did he bring you? An old shoe? A stick? A rock? Whatever the find, He was proud to show. You will recall too How he grew. The awkward months When you were convinced That he was beyond all hope, When every leg had a mind of its own Or so it seemed. You look now at his early pictures |
And smile For he was as they said, A most unsightly mess. With the passing of time, Long after you decided To love him for all his faults, You were to find The worst has come and gone. Time was kind, Puppy manners gave way to poise And even your friends had to admit It was now quite certain, He was a Saint. With srength and assurance He moved through your world, A world you gladly shared. He enjoyed your presence, Would sit beside you for hours Willing to protect With all his life Should the need arise. In turn, you fed and kept him healthy, Not only accepting, but seeking his company For he was in every sense A friend, someone to be truseted, Someone to share your life. Years after he is gone You will still remember - The bonds of such a friendship Have no limits. First submitted to the Club's Songs Of Saints in 1997 by Roberta & Lindsay Rhodes in memory of their beautiful girl Jesse 1985 - 1996 |
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