these past few days/
hours/
minutes
haven’t really taught me anything
but they have given me
tear-lined cheeks,
waves of grief,
extra time with dog,
laughter and memories and panic attacks and sleepy fog,
bravery
and
strength
and
the gentleness louka always showed us
and thankfulness
that it was only a few days of clear suffering
a stress
a moment before we deal
a fear
a breath, a poem, and a sip of coffee before we head out
to the emergency vet (are we familiar faces yet?)
and hope for the ‘best case scenario’
(which is still a tumor)
the problem with having a dog
who already doesn’t get excited by food
is that decreased appetite
isn’t the same shocking warning sign
as it is for other
families
the dog hasn’t been eating much
and though it might be
old age/
picky taste/
boredom/
sensitive teeths
it could also mean she’s
depressed
(which,
like,
we can barely keep our own depressions
from swallowing us whole,
how can we care for
another being’s mind-demons???)
but
i digress
if Louka is depressed
i’ve decided to do my best
to make her just a little bit
happier
so yesterday
we went on a long, long walk.
i let her lead the way,
and barring standing in the middle of the road,
she was our guide.
through the meandering side-streets
of the north bronx
we were intrigued by smells off of a sports field,
scared off by loud subway sounds,
befriended by a neighbor-acquaintance
(and Louka received many treats
for her good ‘sits’ and ‘high-fives’),
and after we’d walked with them for a bit
we bid adieu
to explore a new street,
a new space,
we’d never been before–
and suddenly
in the midst of a mostly barren
chain-link fenced-in yard
stood a small, plastic bull
at attention
ready to fight
and Louka was ready as well
she sniffed
and stared
and stood her ground
until
a play bow!
a small, playful growl!
a fully formed play bark!
her tail wagged a staggering pace,
her hops and leaps and bounds
unbounded by her
skinny, old-dog frame
as she desperately tried to coax this
non-dog,
non-living,
little plastic bull
to play with her
(a dog who never plays,
not with toys,
or humans,
or even other dogs
unless forced to,
and even then…)
and i watched,
delighted,
damn near crying
because she’s been so sad
so lonely
so tired
so much less energetic
over the last few weeks/months/years
and i saw there a full puppy
happy dog tail
happy dog bounce
happy dog
play
acting like a puppy
(and on National Puppy Day!!!)
so maybe there is hope
and help
for our dog’s depression
and maybe
just maybe
that means the humans’ depressions in this house
might be lessened
just a bit
too.
the last
few weeks
we’ve gotten so little sleep
at night,
what with parties happening
two doors down,
or our dog
trying to lick away her own skin,
or the cat
being…a cat;
sleep has been
interrupted
at best
and non-existent
at worst
but last night
we may have slept through the night?
(or at least, had 3 or less wake-ups,
instead of our usual
10+)
and i feel
p rested
and my body
(and brain)
have no idea
how
to feel
[emotionally]
about that.
~~~
i wonder if i’ll ever feel
like
my poetry has a direction
a perspective
a purpose
a reason to keep writing and writing
other than my own
obsession
with
what the hell this life/world/brain is
but for now
i’ll just keep
writing
and writing
and writing and writing and writing
my damn-near gibberish-ness
and hope it sparks
*something*
in someone
in time.
~~
question
everything
answer
nothing
preserve
some things
and continue
on
when dogs get ‘the zoomies’
it’s an indication
that they are a happy dog
but is the same true
for cats
with ‘the zoomies’ ?
our cat
is a very zoomie cat
but she has increased the amount
of zoomies
since our moving to this house
probably five-fold
so i think i’m going to take it
as a win
and assume she is far happier
in the house
than she was at either apartment
(though she can’t see the birds as she once could…
is she now chasing bird ghosts instead of birds themselves?)
(a question for another poem.)
if you ever have a dog
with the dizzies
(the vertigo)
(the nausea)
(the old dog disease)
(the canine idiopathic vestibular disorder)
know that you can help your dog
replenish her fluids
with ice cubes
(or at least
it’s a little easier
than bringing a bowl of water to her
that she continually,
uncoordinatedly,
backs away from
in fear)
know this, so that you may be able to give your dog plenty of water
within that first 24/48 hours,
rather than being like us
and struggling for each droplet
in rubber bowls and silver spoons and white dishrags on plates
and not thinking of ‘solid water’ until
day three.
signed,
the kips
sleeping downstairs
because the dog [might have]
another uti…
maybe not quite as comfy as our bed
but at least we know
future guests
will be
in good
mattress[es]
two dogs
both alike in dignity
one elderly and wise
one young and scared
both curious
both wary
both better outside than inside
both better with other dogs than humans
both here.
and this human, telling this tale, hopes that they will
someday
be less scary to young dog,
that young dog learns to trust
as old dog has
and someday
that beautiful
60% husky
black and white coat
can shed all over their lap
and be the protector
from all things scary
as they are for Louka now.
but for right now,
young dog,
look to Louka for comfort
be an adventure dog outside
watch the crystal rainbows float along the walls inside
listen to the dog calming music
and please
eat this cream cheese off my pinky
with Louka
all ‘old dog’ ill
we’ve been sleeping on the couch(es) downstairs
to make sure she’s alright
through the night,
and also to be close by
to sense
if she might need
to go outside at 12, 1, 2, 3 in the morning
(which has happens more times than we’d like)
and i feel like our low-key exhaustion,
the whole not actually sleeping through the entire night,
the aches and pains from couch-sleeping,
this whole ordeal
is mimic-ing
infant child-care
not to the point where i believe it 100% is exactly the same,
but to the point where, in the past, i’ve listened to stories
of tired parents
discuss how they’re just always tired,
it’s a fact of life that they never sleep through the night,
and i’ve thought to myself, “i don’t know if i could do that…
i’ve suffered from such insomnia in the past
my sleep is sacred now,
and on the off-chance i’m actually in a bout of semi-good sleep,
to have the cause of an un-restful night be not my own brain,
i’m unsure if i could stop myself from being resentful,
and i know i’m my best when i get 7-8 hours of sleep,
or a night or two of less than four,
but these parents are talking about a near year of 3-5 hour nights
and i just don’t think
i can.”
but this experience,
this mimic-ing,
it’s taught me
that when one is the caretaker
of a being they love without conditions
lack of sleep isn’t really that big of a deal,
and (similar to how i survived high school)
there’s a certain point where exhaustion
just becomes your daily natural state
and you just
kind of
deal.
walking with the dog
is more like
stopping and starting and stopping with the dog
kipventures 