06/16/2024
Jimmy Stewart loved dogs, and he and his wife Gloria had several throughout their long-time marriage. Stewart was especially fond of his golden retriever Beau, who would sleep in a corner of the bedroom at night, but would sometimes sneak onto the bed and lie between Stewart and Gloria. According to Stewart, "I know that I should have pushed him off the bed, but I didn't. He was up there because he wanted me to pat his head, so that's what I would do. Somehow, my touching his hair made him happier, and just the feeling of him laying against me helped me sleep better."
When Beau became terminally ill and had to be euthanized, Stewart sat in his car, following the procedure, for ten minutes to clear his eyes of tears. He later recalled, "After he died there were a lot of nights when I was certain that I could feel him get into bed beside me and I would reach out and pat his head. The feeling was so real that I wrote a poem about it and about how much it hurt to realize that he wasn't going to be there anymore."
The poem, titled Beau, was first recited on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson in 1981. As you will hear in his poem, Beau (like all his dogs) was not good at things like 'sit', 'stay' and 'come'. Stewart said, "The difference between 'trained OK' and 'trained perfectly' doesn't really matter all that much to me.... I suppose the truth is that I'd rather have a happy dog than a trained one."
The poem starts out with humor and ends with sadness - with both Stewart and Carson trying their best to hold back tears.
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
And on evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He'd charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while, he'd stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
To follow him where he was bound.
We're early-to-bedders in our house - I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
And he'd push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd dig it out with a smile.
But before very long he'd tire of the ball
And he'd be asleep in his corner in no time at all.
And there were nights when I'd feel him climb up on our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there were nights when I'd feel his stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I'd reach out to stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh and I think I know the reason why.
He'd wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb up on our bed and lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there are nights when I think I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
And he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.
