I regret to inform you all of the passing of a determined raider, Shakespeare. Because of old age, Shakes hadn't made it to a raid in a couple years.... but he always loved meeting all of his human's chanology friends in the bunker. He even got to eat marblecaek once or twice. He attended raids where the weather was right for his advanced years (in the winter his paws would hurt too much for long raiding). However, he did complete one epic task with his human that I'd like to share with you now for the record, if you're up for a little tl;dr. Shakespeare and the Chanology Walk of Calk It was February 08, and I (the human) was just getting all fired up about Chanology. As my first operation, I printed off 500 simple and cryptic white on black stickers that said "Beware the March of Ideas" and shit like that. Myself and old Shakespeare (then 11), set off to do every side street in a thick residential neighbourhood, awash with the foot traffic of students. We started at about 11pm, and just wound the streets. Always staying about fifty feet in front or behind me, his role was critical : the lookout. He saved my ass by being all cute and friendly when the cops stopped to bother us. "Just take that sticker down there and take your friend home". After the cops rolled off I asked him "Do you wanna go home?"... and he immediately proceeded in the opposite direction, he turned back to look at me as if to say 'our job is not done'. By about 2am we had covered probably 10 kilometers and I was putting a sticker on an old garbage can. From around the corner appeared an SUV full of douchebags, which screeched to a stop when it saw us. Both of us froze and stared intently. "What the fuck are you doing?" One of them drunkenly bellowed. In concert, both shakes and I replied "What?" and "ROO!" Confused, the dbag-mobile sped away. He may have only been fifty pounds, but his bark was on the order of 200. We carried on. An hour later while on the main drag... two slightly toasted students walked by. One turned to the other as they passed "Now that is the kind of dog I want. No leash required." From there we had had enough, and started walking in the direction of home. On the last block, at about 3:30am... I had stopped to put a sticker somewhere and Shakespear was intent on investigating some very interesting garbage. We were two short corners from home. I turned and said "Okay buddy, time to head back." And he was gone. No sight of him. I bellowed his name and listened, no jingle, no jangle, no Shakespeare. I walked back to where I last saw him, still nothing. For half an hour I walked up and down that block calling his name and waking up half the block in the process. Nothing. My heart started to race. You fucking retard, you brought a 77 year old dog out in -10 degree weather for this long and you didn't think he'd get tired and disoriented? He's probably deaf, he can't hear your calls! I could always rely on Shakespeare's intelligence, hell that was part of why we gave him the name... so I figured I'd head home, and hope he did the same when he was done sniffing whatever he found so entertaining. As I rounded the corner to the house, I looked up to the far end of the block about 200 yards away. There stood the silhouette of a dog at perfect attention, in major search mode. I threw my arms in the air... "SHAKESPEARE! THERE YOU ARE!" He took off running to me faster than I'd seen in about 5 years. I had moved about 20 yards in the time that he did the other 180... he ran 3 straight laps around and then tackled me. We rolled in the snow laughing and barking, and then went inside for a milkbone and tea. Life was good then.
My number one rule for me is to never cry, it breaks spirit, and i actually shed a tear reading this, i am so sorry for your loss mate. Shakespeare = Cutie.
Thanks Glad you enjoyed the tale. I've shed more than a few in the last 24 hours. He was the best friend a guy could ask for, and will be sorely missed. Also for the record, that sticker is supposed to read "The March of Ides" not ideas.
I am so sorry for the loss of your friend and chanology activist Shakespeare. How did he get the name?
Please allow me the painful honor of giving the same tribute any Anon would get. And nothing of value... Nope. can't do it. Dogs are better people than people, they deserve better than us.
^^^Trufax. How Shakespeare got his name is like everything with him, a story. When he first arrived we were all kinda blown away by how smart he was and how much personality he had. We had him like 6 weeks and he still wasn't named. I kept saying he was willful and should have a name that reflected that. William or Wallace or both together had been tossed around (among dozens of others), but one morning my Dad busted into my room and was all "SHAKESPEAR... what do you think?" And I'm all William Shakespear ... hells yes. I started calling him that within fifteen minutes, even sat him down like a proper weirdo and explained "Shakespeare is your name, I'm Anonymous, and you're Shakespeare. what do you think?" He barked to seal the agreement. That night Dad gets home... "Listen, I thought about it... and I changed my mind. Shakespeare is just a strange name for a dog." But we hadn't been calling him anything else before that intentionally, just "Good dog", and it stuck. They tried other names in the coming days, and he'd just tilt his head. Then I'd say "Shakespeare, come here boy." And he'd trot himself over.
My condolences and sending you strength. What a kick in the guts when we lose them. He did his part for Chanology. Run free Shakespeare.
Thanks so much everyone. For some reason I forgot to include, we also found out he was born in the same week as the Shakespeare, about a week or two into the struggle of the name.
all i had to read was the tittle and see the picture of teh puppeh and i started bawwing like a fucking sissy im sorry for your loss man im sure shakes will be watching all of us from heaven Much Love L.O.S
I took my dog for an extra walk tonight, in honor of Shakespeare. I return to find this pic and, well... thanks, Anonymous photoshopper. My screen's blurry now, too.
I know Shakespeare would appreciate the walk Anonymous. Thank you. Didn't feel like I could sleep much last night, do tonight, really appreciate the kind words.
The Power of the Dog There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear. Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie-- Perfect passsion and worship fed By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart to a dog to tear. When the fourteen years which Nature permits Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, And the vet's unspoken prescription runs To lethal chambers or loaded guns, Then you will find--it's your own affair-- But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear. When the body that lived at your single will, With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!) When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone--wherever it goes--for good, You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart to a dog to tear. We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-term loan is as bad as a long-- So why in--Heaven (before we are there) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear? Rudyard Kipling Rest in peace, Shakespeare.
My dog drop dead the next day after we went out for dinner. It was the same week after my first raid. I know they probably had my picture and license plate. I had no fear because although he doesn't bite, I had the best alarm and the world's best early warning system guarding the family. But I forgot to lock the yard and lock him up when we went out! It was the early days. After he was gone, I got a smoke and fire alarm in every room, and electronic alarm in all windows and doors, and turned all anti-vandalism cams into periphery monitor cams. Then I hit hard on scn the ways I know, anonymously. To this day. So I can't every post his picture yet. Shakespeare will not be alone.
The Hound of Heaven By Francis Thompson (1859–1907) I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter. 5 Up vistaed hopes I sped; And shot, precipitated, Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears, From those strong Feet that followed, followed after. But with unhurrying chase, 10 And unperturbèd pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, They beat—and a Voice beat More instant than the Feet— ‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’ 15 I pleaded, outlaw-wise, By many a hearted casement, curtained red, Trellised with intertwining charities; (For, though I knew His love Who followèd, Yet was I sore adread 20 Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside). But, if one little casement parted wide, The gust of His approach would clash it to. Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue. Across the margent of the world I fled, 25 And troubled the gold gateways of the stars, Smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars; Fretted to dulcet jars And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon. I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon; 30 With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over From this tremendous Lover— Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see! I tempted all His servitors, but to find My own betrayal in their constancy, 35 In faith to Him their fickleness to me, Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit. To all swift things for swiftness did I sue; Clung to the whistling mane of every wind. But whether they swept, smoothly fleet, 40 The long savannahs of the blue; Or whether, Thunder-driven, They clanged his chariot ’thwart a heaven, Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:— Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue. 45 Still with unhurrying chase, And unperturbèd pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, Came on the following Feet, And a Voice above their beat— 50 ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’ I sought no more that after which I strayed In face of man or maid; But still within the little children’s eyes Seems something, something that replies, 55 They at least are for me, surely for me! I turned me to them very wistfully; But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair With dawning answers there, Their angel plucked them from me by the hair. 60 ‘Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share With me’ (said I) ‘your delicate fellowship; Let me greet you lip to lip, Let me twine with you caresses, Wantoning 65 With our Lady-Mother’s vagrant tresses, Banqueting With her in her wind-walled palace, Underneath her azured daïs, Quaffing, as your taintless way is, 70 From a chalice Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.’ So it was done: I in their delicate fellowship was one— Drew the bolt of Nature’s secrecies. 75 I knew all the swift importings On the wilful face of skies; I knew how the clouds arise Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings; All that’s born or dies 80 Rose and drooped with; made them shapers Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine; With them joyed and was bereaven. I was heavy with the even, When she lit her glimmering tapers 85 Round the day’s dead sanctities. I laughed in the morning’s eyes. I triumphed and I saddened with all weather, Heaven and I wept together, And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine; 90 Against the red throb of its sunset-heart I laid my own to beat, And share commingling heat; But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart. In vain my tears were wet on Heaven’s grey cheek. 95 For ah! we know not what each other says, These things and I; in sound I speak— Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences. Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth; Let her, if she would owe me, 100 Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me The breasts o’ her tenderness: Never did any milk of hers once bless My thirsting mouth. Nigh and nigh draws the chase, 105 With unperturbèd pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy; And past those noisèd Feet A voice comes yet more fleet— ‘Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!’ 110 Naked I wait Thy love’s uplifted stroke! My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me, And smitten me to my knee; I am defenceless utterly. I slept, methinks, and woke, 115 And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep. In the rash lustihead of my young powers, I shook the pillaring hours And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears, I stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years— 120 My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap. My days have crackled and gone up in smoke, Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream. Yea, faileth now even dream The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist; 125 Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist, Are yielding; cords of all too weak account For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed. Ah! is Thy love indeed 130 A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed, Suffering no flowers except its own to mount? Ah! must— Designer infinite!— Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it? 135 My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust; And now my heart is as a broken fount, Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever From the dank thoughts that shiver Upon the sighful branches of my mind. 140 Such is; what is to be? The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind? I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds; Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds From the hid battlements of Eternity; 145 Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again. But not ere him who summoneth I first have seen, enwound With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned; 150 His name I know, and what his trumpet saith. Whether man’s heart or life it be which yields Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields Be dunged with rotten death? Now of that long pursuit 155 Comes on at hand the bruit; That Voice is round me like a bursting sea: ‘And is thy earth so marred, Shattered in shard on shard? Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me! 160 Strange, piteous, futile thing! Wherefore should any set thee love apart? Seeing none but I makes much of naught’ (He said), ‘And human love needs human meriting: How hast thou merited— 165 Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee, Save Me, save only Me? 170 All which I took from thee I did but take, Not for thy harms, But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms. All which thy child’s mistake Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home: 175 Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’ Halts by me that footfall: Is my gloom, after all, Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly? ‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest, 180 I am He Whom thou seekest! Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’
Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace." -- Milan Kundera
"Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery If inscribed over human ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of BOATSWAIN SHAKESPEARE, a DOG" -- Lord Byron
Thank you all so much for this, these poems are amazing. The family has been following this thread (their first visit to wwp!) and has been driven to tears by many of these posts. I'm happy to say they are all moved by your response to his contribution to the effort. Also, that shoop is so awesome I couldn't type the words last night. It made me laugh and cry at the same time. Thank you Anon.
