Our Club is graced with loyal support from a vast number of people, ranging from ex-players, parents, children, and general friends, all have the opportunity to show their support by becoming a member of some form.
However the most loyalist of our supporters have until now not been recognised. They stand on the touch line, come wind and rain, without the slightest complaint. They always give a warm greeting no matter the result or performance put in by their chosen team or player. They wait patiently in the clubhouse for a drink or bite to eat, never harassing the bar staff or going to the kitchen with dirty hands. They are compelled by club rules to always behave and be in control of themselves and whoever is with them. They represent to club with distinction.
I speak of course of our DOGS.
Membership is £1. This will allow more water bowls to be provided and other such items that can be suggested.
As a final parting word (for now) I leave you with this poem I came across by chance whilst surfing the WEB. I have to say I’m a bit ashamed of my self for not knowing of it until know, especially when it’s by one of our more famous poets.
Warning, it will bring a tear to the eye of a dog owner (past or present),
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 passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for 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 for 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 for the 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-time 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?