A Quote by Mary Russell Mitford

I have had a great misfortune; my dear old dog is dead. — © Mary Russell Mitford
I have had a great misfortune; my dear old dog is dead.
You have doubtless heard, my dear mother, the misfortune of Madame de Chartres, whose child is born dead. But I would rather have even that, terrible as it is, than be as I am without hope of any children.
My dear old dog, most constant of all friends.
Had a dog. I had many. I grew up in rural Washington before I moved to the Twin Cities in Minnesota, and my first dog was - his name first was Bear, but then it changed to Big, and he sort of looked like Old Yeller. And then we also had a three-legged dog named Foxy, who we found because her leg was in a trap.
Growing up, my uncle used to always have dogs, and we always had a dog growing up. I couldn't remember a time when I never had a dog. It was part of the family. So once I actually got old enough, I got a dog in college, then I felt he needed a friend, so I got another dog. They just started adding up from there.
I figured out that I could think of my childhood dog that had died, and I could bring myself to tears. So I used that poor dead dog for several years until it just didn't work anymore, and I had to find something else.
Only Ron's dog was watching William. He considered that it had, for a dog, a very offensive and knowing look. A couple of months ago someaone had tried to hand William the old story about there being a dog in the city that could talk. (...) The dog in front of William didn't look as if it could talk, but it DID look as if it would swear.
I remember once I had lunch with George W Bush, his father, and Condoleezza Rice. Then I went home to find my dog and my neighbour's dog fighting over a dead rabbit, and I had to separate them. I like that my home life keeps things real.
We had a dog, Apples. He was 13 years old, toothless, blind and had the worst breath this side of Jabba the Hut. But he was the sweetest dog, and I cried and cried when he died.
I mean, dear old 'Bergerac', or dear young 'Bergerac' as he was then, he had a gammy leg, he was going through a nasty divorce with his wife, he was a recovering alcoholic, it's a wonder he can get up in the morning let alone solve any crimes. And he also had to drive that ridiculous car.
The excuse of having a dog is great, because before I had a dog, I wouldn't be like, 'I need to go hike for two hours'; my girlfriend would have been like, 'What are you doing?' Now I take the dog, and she comes with me.
With the "old dog" stuff, maybe the term "old" is in there, but I'm 26. I'm not that old. It's mostly like, "Ah, you dirty old dog!" I'm saying it more like that. I'm still ripping. I'm ready to rip. I'll make a bunch more records and have a nice time. We'll see what happens.
And now my old dog is dead, and another I had after him, and my parents are dead, and that first world, that old house, is sold and lost, and the books I gathered there lost, or sold- but more books bought, and in another place, board by board and stone by stone, like a house, a true life built, and all because I was steadfast about one or two things: loving foxes, and poems, the blank piece of paper, and my own energy- and mostly the shimmering shoulders of the world that shrug carelessly over the fate of any individual that they may, the better, keep the Niles and Amazons flowing.
You can't teach an old dog new dog new tricks. Now,you can give an old dog new toys. And we've got one here!
I never ride horseback now because my sympathy with the under-dog is too keen. After we have a gone a few blocks, I always dismount and say to the horse: 'We'll walk it together, old dear.
I was part of a writers' collective with 21 writers and filmmakers called the San Francisco Writers' Grotto. We had our own office space in this old converted dog and cat hospital, and we had a basketball hoop outside. I'd bring my dog to work every day and write.
You can teach an old dog new tricks, and this old dog wants to learn.
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