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I asked my friend Tammy Gordon to write a poem for the 9/11 Rescue Dogs. I knew that her love for animals and the dedication to her writing would lead her into writing a moving and powerful poem that would truly make readers feel what these pups went through that day. Thank you so much Tammy for giving your talent to animals. You can also follow Tammy on Twitter: @zongrik
Not all Heroes Cried
Flying across fields of rebar
as if they were fields of grass,
no concern for the deep black holes
of torn metal, wood and glass.
Where rescuers could not attempt,
our heroes mounted without trouble,
exceeding expectations
in deposits of baking rubble.
When they came upon a scent,
they scurried in significant rush.
Steadfastly they worked for reward ―
toys or water bottles to crush.
Comforting and making people laugh,
they were loving and most giving.
Their biggest reward, was to locate souls:
so they could play with the living.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
In their search, each one was grey ―
the Big Mutts and the Small.
Jumping on heaps of melted steel
toward endlessness they did crawl.
Their bloody paws were bandaged up,
eyes and noses filled with grunge,
exposed to toxic materials which
were washed with hose and sponge.
They were there for all the rescuers,
more loving than partners and peers.
Some played fetch to help others relax.
They soothed those with heavy tears.
Thunder, and Storm were just as dry
As Porkchop, Jax and Servus.
The rescuers gave away their drinks,
before quenching their own thirsts.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
Tascha ceaselessly gave her all
‘til overcome by heat and smoke.
Bretagne managed to take a snooze
so she wouldn’t have a stroke.
Billy calmed himself right down,
traversing treacherous terrains.
Wolf, Bear, Eagle, and Trackr
lived up to their doggie names.
Dorado, Roselle, Salty, Max, Wuss
all made it out alive.
Kaiser choked on hazardous soot
when, into debris, he took a dive.
Sunny Boy stayed on task
although it was so dreary.
Woody, Jake, and Hoke,
found no one, then got leary.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
There are stories about Cowboy and Red,
Or about Thunder, if you prefer.
Dusty arrived there clean in heart,
but left with contaminated fur.
They came in many sizes.
They came from any breed.
Abbey, Thea, Jena, Sue, Ivey, Mika
were all good girls indeed.
Riley, Willow, Cody, Hawk ―
each one was some kind of hero.
Moxie, Tara, Guinness, Merlyn
or Gus, Cowboy, Sirus, or Apollo.
Two sets of list must exist,
a short one for those who came out,
a longer one for those who searched,
although doing it with doubt.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
