I know they’re supposed to bring joy. Sorrow seeps in. Go, please.
I’ll just care for little Cricket.
I said there would be very little about a little dog. Very little, except that she’s fourteen and not eating regularly or much at all.
She’d always been that way about once a month.
She still goes out in the night yard and dashes about in persuit of shadows. Still eats a little eventually –at night. Took some little treats from me.
Oh, grand life. Why do we
I’ve had losses recently, a brother, before that, two years ago a brother and then a sister ten years ago this month.
I want to spend my time thinking about, praying on, meditating on, crying about those losses.
I really don’t want the pain of a little dog’s decline. And she’ll bounce back, maybe.
It’s September the bittersweet month. And they keep coming, these Septembers
And I’ve also said goodbye to a dog and two cats. Everybody hates such losses.
There will never be another pet in my life. They are Diane’s, really. I didn’t want them — for this reason. The sorrow of imminent loss on top of all the human loss. The world is full of pet lovers to care for all the pets.
But our love — it goes where it will. Mine went to each of these pets. I must love like the poet on Dover Beach tonight.
On a Sunday night in Florida in late September.
The humidity has broken, temporarily.
