Last night,
I wept over your broken body,
watching bloody pools expanding
beneath your feet.
Today,
you needed seven anti-anxiety pills
and still paced and cried,
your heart throbbing.
Were we dreaming side by side?
Did you see my vision?
Were you scared by day
from mother dreams
of death?
.
.
.
(The dog again. Sigh. Put him in the Gentle Leader halter after dinner and he calmed down. Might try that during the day tomorrow.)
It’s time for spring cleaning,
but if I wash your nose prints
off this glass
then the last trace
of you will be erased
and you will truly be
gone.
whimper
pant
pace
whine
pant
woof?
pant
woof
pace
pant
woof!
pant
WOOF!
pant
cry
WOOF wooooof!
pant
sigh
.
.
My 15 year old standard poodle is still unable to manage alone after we had to put down our 16.5 year old miniature poodle last month. We now allow him to sleep in our bedroom. Last night, after he’d been pacing and whimpering from 1:30 to 2 a.m. (post snack and pee-break) I actually got out of bed to lie beside him on the floor for 20 minutes until he settled. I’m not sure if that’s enabling, but we were all able to sleep afterwards. A visit to the vet this week, and a trip to his favourite kennel master next week, and I have hopes that perhaps he’ll be able to cope soon. The mourning process is a challenge for us all.
How long ’til I stop
Checking behind me for my
faithful dog shadow?
.
Good bye Dusty Dog.
In the hallway
between kitchen and bedrooms
the chef knife catches the light.
Which poodle is plotting
nefarious exploits?
Should we be locking
bedroom doors at night?
Your brown eyes
watch me with an intensity
of adoration that makes my heart glow.
Whenever I come home,
you greet me at the door,
quivering in delight.
You follow me throughout the house
set your head across my knees,
gaze longingly into my eyes.
I scratch your ears and you sigh,
with a satisfaction that trembles
up your spine.
“Such a good boy,” I say,
and your tail thumps
in lazy agreement.
.
Hot water tap turned with a toe,
A fairy tale is unfolding
In my brain, page by page.
Dusty Dog is curled into a ball
Hubby snoring through the wall
A suspicious rustling
heard down the hall.
“OJ? Are you getting into trouble?” I call
to my incorrigible canine,
plainly awoken from his nap on the couch.
He clicks nearer, ’til he’s
outside the bathroom door.
“Were you getting into something?” I ask softly.
Slow feet start to move away.
“You need to stay out of trouble. Go to your bed, OJ.”
I say in a firm whisper.
Click click
Two steps toward the living room.
“OJ.”
Pause.
“OJ. That’s the wrong way.
Go to bed.” Spoken so silently that
sleeping husband will not hear.
Oh, so, slowly OJ turns
And strolls, almost like it was his idea,
Into his room.
I hear him jump onto his bedroom futon.
Good bad dog.
I turn the page in my book,
and add more hot water with my toes.
Dusty sleeps the blessed sleep of the innocent
on his own bed towel, dreaming dog dreams.
Later, warmly water logged,
I investigate the disaster,
Dusty at my feet.
My purse on a chair, formerly zippered closed
Has been opened and disembowelled.
I pull out the camera to photograph
The scene of the crime.
OJ wanders down the hall,
hopeful.
He meets my eyes.
“OJ. This is bad.” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Very bad.”
He looks at the floor.
“You need to be back in your room before I get angry with you.”
He soulfully studies me, sighs
then takes the circle route,
through the kitchen,
Back to his room.
Such a bad, good dog.
.
.
That black/gold cloth bag is an organizer. Each compartment is usually full of something- pens, makeup, business cards, shopping bags, keys, flashlight, notebook, etc. so things can be transferred easily between purses. The bag was a mess, the organizer as you see.
If you click on the Category POODLES >>> on the right>>> you can read more of OJ’s adventures. He is an incorrigible counter surfer, and food scrounger. He opens packages (he loves ziplock bags, even if there is nothing edible in them). He likes to investigate my purse, whenever I am foolish enough to leave it within his reach. After I yelled at him for eating through linings (on my brand new, expensive bag!) he has not once eaten through another lining, but carefully manipulates the zippers, sometimes a series of zippers, and occasionally buckles in order to explore. I have no idea how. Poodles are considered the second most intelligent dogs (second only to Border collies), and it’s because of their phenomenal problem solving abilities. OJ plays dumb and lazy much of the time, but he has some amazing skills. (I call these “bad talents” and there is a blog series about them.)
Do you have an incorrigible canine character at your house?
.
Dusty Dog and the oh so innocent looking incorrigible OJ:
Dusty and OJ
Of course it is. After all, the calendar says mid-January, so what can you expect? Here is the view from my kitchen window:
.
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And here’s the view from the living room window:
.
.
Yup. Definitely still winter.
It’s a beautiful time, full of stillness and rest. Unless you’re out on your skis or snowshoes, it’s a good time to be inside sipping cocoa, reading a good book in front of the fire, while you listen to some beautiful music.
Which reminds me of a beautiful harp piece by Sharlene Wallace on her album Journey of Shadows. Listen to “Winter Still.” Sharlene was my harp teacher in the 90’s, when I would go study at Island Mountain Arts International harp School. These days my poor harps are sadly neglected, but I still love Sharlene! After you’ve heard “Winter Still,” while you’re on that CBC site, listen to some of her other pieces! “Winter Frieze” is another of my favourites.
Shawn L. Bird 