Owed to our Dog: Lola
aka: "Lola Lita Lolabridgedetta".
What degree of pet-degree is she?
Perfect in every way.
“Girl with the Curl,” we like to say.
Her fur: the best in black and white:
Holstein, bitch in birch, day and night.
Patch-eyed with lashes to match.
Snow-white mane--polar patch.
Saddle black on white back.
Speckled legs with white feather withers,
(totally tutu on toe toe),
From black spot rump, white plume tail
pomp proud as The Major General: “Hail!
Forward Trot!” into the day:
mix of rest, romp and eager play.
She shows us all the way.
Then,
at play's end,
she curls
her angora swirls
into dreams of chasing squirrels.
2001-2019-….
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Out for our Fall morning walk, it's a sad day when the old dog turns back to go lay on the porch.
It’s a happier day when she sees you across the meadow and comes bounding out to join you for the walk on the trail that winds down through the fields, then along the river with views to the mountains all way round.
She trots along --once again the companion she’s been for 16 years. Good girl, Lola.
Months later, its clear she’s failing. She’s an old girl; 130 by some counts.
A week ago we took our last long walk together through the wetlands across meadows to Promontory Rock.
Night before last, she had a stroke and never got up.
She had a mercifully short sweet death at home with us by her side.
Today I take my first solo walk.
Her absence makes my heart grow more grief.
There will be lots of practice solos ahead.
Can I bring her along with me in my mind’s eye?
In my heart? Still my constant companion:
her beauty and avid engagement amplifying the scene?
We’ll see. My heart is willing. I suspect grief will insist on bringing her along. Maybe that’s a good thing.
Our attachment trots along. 2/8/19
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Transition House;
Home on the Change: Dog Gone it!
In a time, not so long ago: only Yesterday,
we lived in a house we built of Glad.
We lived with a boy of rumpus and joy
and a dog so pretty and sweet.
For a long time, we lived
in a house of Joy and Rumpus and Glad,
Then the boy grew up and left.
Then the dog died, left us bereft.
For a while, we live in a House of Sad.
This sad won’t last long
because we remember
we built this house of Love
for the boy and the dog and each other
and the others who enter in.
This is more than a house --
It's our Loving Home
for the two of us
and all who enter to fuss with us.
HOOOOhm is where The Heart is
and where the Love Life Start is
which grows on and on.
OOOHM OOOHM on the Change
Where we’re dear,
and we can elope to play.
Always are heard
encouraging words.
And the sky can be cloudy--
come what may.
We are still happy Loving HOOhm Practitioners.
OOOOHM! MY! MY!
Gratitude for our Home Sweet OOOHM Life
full of wild dreams and precious locks of love.
Want to come ooohm with me?
Strays welcome here.
Love to Lola (2000 to 2-7-19)
