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she came on a Sunday
left on a Wednesday
it wasn’t like it was a special day
she liked leaves
and maybe be leaving too
come to think of it
when it’s time to go
let ‘er go
ears against the wind
flipped inside out
the way they should be
Postscript, if there is such a thing: My beloved beagle, Poppy, has been missing since last Wednesday. She had been playing and running, a delightful sight for a seven-year-old nap-centric dog who’d had cancer (twice!) on one of her legs and an affinity for eating foods deemed “The Most Fatal Foods For Dogs.” The wind in her ears, mouth stretched into a smile, she ran toward me before psyching me out and turning the other way. She trotted off and that was the last I’ve seen of her.
My oldest daughter, Poppy, doesn’t qualify for health insurance.
Website says, We’re sorry. My daughter’s age and/or pre-existing condition(s) disqualify her for true coverage but as a soft sendoff, I could purchase an “accident only” plan, which would not cover hospitalization or the setting of bones or the stitching of wounds. It would “cover” a lady bug bite.
This is a true story.
Yesterday, after hours of lying on the couch, my eyes spied upon an empty Priority Mail box and I challenged myself to see the poetry in the lines of the box. Lines have a point and all that. I couldn’t be bothered in the end but I have no doubt there is meaning in that box and if I try, I can find it.
Sanitary phone wipes are just like cosmetic surgery. It covers the surface but that’s hidden underneath and within will screw you over every time.
So. My Poppy. She has completely duped me. She’s mastered the art of getting into things. Her ability to jump three feet on my bed is impressive as I discovered last week. Some of my pill bottles that are on my nightstand (only way to get to it is via my bed) were on my floor. I said, “that silly Poppy.” Later that night, I went a’lookin’ for my foam earplugs. They are always in the same place, in a little nook on the nightstand and they weren’t there. I searched the carpet, the bed, the table, the bathroom and then I searched my dogs eyes. Guilty! I remembered one of my foam earplugs had mysteriously gone missing at my parents’ house in October. I’ve got a foam earplug-lovin’ fool as a dog.
Between Birth and Decay
My aunt had cancer.
Actually, she still does.
It’s just rotting with her bones in an underground cavern.
Between birth and decay,
it’s the suffering that counts.
Two other aunts have cancer now.
Don’t they deserve it, never coming to visit
never seeing the suffering until the end.
More endings coming forthwith.
My ex-boyfriend had gone to Miami for four days in April.
I know because I drove him from the airport.
He went to a strip club.
He met and took pictures of girls he met there.
One night on the town, three pictures of these girls.
I know because one morning after he’d gone to work, I looked through the pictures on his camera.
Six months with me, not a one picture did he take.
I know because I was there.
I know because he’s so predictable.
I know because I drove him to the airport.
My dog had a bone
but no meat on it
not even much of a scent
where there should have been flavor and bite
My friend nodded
saying it’s a shame
puppies having puppies
but she didn’t know better
She just wanted a chance at a real bone
but she has the real thing now and I give her bacon-flavored bones everyday
See poeticgrin.com for the rules of this exercise.
Note: “Miami” and “Bones” appear to have 11 lines; however, there is one line in each that is too long for wordpress’s sensibilities.
I’m sad to say I will not be adopting Ro. The foster family said she needed a companion dog. Forget that I would provide her with a permanent home, instead of a halfway house. Apparently at this particular Humane Society, the fosters get the final say and not the organization. The HS apologized to me because they said they had no idea that the fosters were insisting on another dog. They said they would update the website to include this information. I was terribly hurt and angered by this judgment. I was rejected and dejected. I internalized and then externalized. Dear Bryan is fired up. My other friend said that it was ridiculous. My mother even got up in arms and she’s the sweetest person in the world (but don’t mess with her little girl, understand?). I was really touched by the support.
There other dogs I am looking at, of course. Some beagles and Bryan has convinced to me to go take a look at another Humane Society.
Medicated Lady has decided she needs a dog. Although she was sure 2 labs would make the perfect pets, she decided that perhaps two dogs as big as she is was not necessarily a good thing.
ML has spent days looking for a doggy at various shelters. She thinks it’s fine if other people want to pay for certain breeds but she personally thinks the money should go toward adopting them and for supporting the rescue organization. Plus, these dogs can be in these places for years.
ML has decided she wants a Beagle named Rosie. She doesn’t love the name but she doesn’t hate it either. Bryan says it would be too traumatic to change it because she’s an adult dog. Medicated Lady wonders if she can nickname her “Ro.” She does not know why this name seems better than Rosie but somehow it does.
Ro is supposed to be a calm dog and she’s a little thing. Although there’s a bit of fear for her mental health but ML can offer love and extreme emotional responses to both minute and grand-scale trauma/drama.
Bryan and another friend say she is adorable. They say she is perfection. ML can’t help but agree.
So the only impulsive behavior ML feels is to just go and adopt her as soon as possible. Forget formalities.