In a Moment: My Dog-My Country

Posted on Updated on

It only takes a moment to hear a plea for attention, help or compromise:  Korean basketball scores USA bomb threat delivering China vote; Political Compromise dining out; LaPierre appetizer of gnawed off sights cocks and aims YouTube rants; 2016 pubs new Bush new position new book reversal push; old filibuster oozing sweet drool in sham resurrection of Jimmy Stewart, rising above court jester.

Boiling to victory, High Tea service brewed 140 sound bite cliché steeped just Right for Left cause and centered the question for thee.  All to the glory of C-PAC eve audition bound, in honor of the very Right Saviors, brown, believing they’ve put the big guy in the ground.

In a moment comes renewed Life for VAWA, sweetened by inclusion of American Indians and Lesbians too, but bitter DOMA after taste fills our nostrils with Koched up Arkansas outdone Alabama Anti-Abortion stew.

‘Every Day Life’ filled with great and small particles flying by in shower of forgettable moments powered with clout.  Moneyed politics plow our road ahead calling it life, no doubt.  Too often too oblivious to time, like oily earth, fresh water and clean air is running out.

Then in a Sunday morning moment, mission to keep peace between the big cats of ill, while love magnet for both human food sources, the little lion is bleeding like a floodgate spill.

Rushed to emergency Vet, her Tibetan Spaniel face of big brown bedroom eyes proving still with a smile, life is shared love, loyal friendship, and when at best, a moment of peaceful union when we’ve gone the last mile.  Is that the rhythmic beat of death’s approaching pace, filling the very breathing of the place?

The moment passes with Politian-like reassurances: stones not passed, but more than gas, needs operation I suppose, but not life threatening as Korea goes.

Home again, home again we go with pain killers cut in quarters, to two warring cats on two different floors as borders.  Wednesday comes the snows and out drugged Zoe goes for her filibuster break.  Doting the white snow not with what’s mellow, but rather marking her usual zone with blood stains like after a Drone.

Now, more out of control of life and limbs, as medication dulls until clarity dims.  We make bold choice: pain killers are killing whatever time remains for her to have a moment of final voice.

So off with the pills drawn and quartered and hand feeding the little lion her favorite treat, chicken.  Eating as if starved for life, with each bite she appears more alive than sicken.  Soon she’s walking on all fours and asking to again try outdoors.

This time my assistance not needed to stand and there is far less blood on land.  For her proof of life reward, we present more chicken but in warmed chicken broth avoiding bored.

As I stroke her golden Tibetan mane, asking for just one more night of shared moments again, the uncompromising cats of friction steal in tribute to the kitchen.

Zoe looking quite herself, searches deeply from cat to cat, then to human faces, licking my hand in promise of one more night of moments, she holds quartet frozen in our places, until all sleep face to faces.

Early on Thursday morn, off she goes to family Vet most trusted, but shortly after noon all are clustered, in sad review of what now for Zoe we must do.

One month shy of fifteen years, she looks to us without fears, ready to go despite our tears.  Leaning in close to her little no nose face, we mingle her last moment with our love and her grace.

Ever mindful of her devotion, she kept her promise of one more night, and gave us her final moment of compromised light.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s