Fitz’s CUPS

We learned a couple of years ago that our more-Schnauzery-miniature-Schnoodle, Fitz, has Chronic Ulcerative Paradental Stomatitis (CUPS), a painful condition in which the plaque builds up on his teeth and causes painful mouth ulcers. We knew something was wrong when my sweet lap dog who was never anywhere else took to the underbed and began whining odd-sounding noises. It prompted a vet visit, which turned up the diagnosis.

We have to have his teeth cleaned regularly, and with each cleaning we have had to return for extractions to alleviate his condition by removing teeth. He’s down to practically goat status, and after eleven teeth the first time, 8 teeth the second time, and now a projected additional 8 teeth, I’m inclined to go ahead with extracting all of them and resort to soft foods just to end his pain once and for all and give him some quality days in his senior years. There’ll be enough other aging crap to suffer, so this will put the skids on one condition.

This is the downside of rescuing a dog in poor health (Fitz came to us with a severely broken leg, among other things), but it’s also the upside. I ask myself: if not us, then who?

We may not be able to love every needed rescue and save them all, but we can make a difference for this one.

And that matters. If you’re teetering on the verge of rescuing an aging dog, do it! Even though an aging dog sometimes costs a small fortune, the return is love as they gaze into your eyes and wish they could talk to tell you how much they appreciate all you do for them – – – and what’s more valuable than that?

our dog has few top teeth in his mouth

now after a cleaning we learn

he needs more tooth extractions

we need a Go Fund Me

to afford Fitzie

but there is no

price on love…..

he’s our

boy

Headline News Nonet: on the countdown…..

woodcutters will be here in one month

evicting our birds from their homes

they were scheduled for April

I’m scheduled for heartbreak

I asked for “not spring!”

nestling killings

are not an

option

here

Boo Shoo Nonet

Boo sitting with his soul human (dad) 6/30/2024 needing no one else in the world

Boo’s got that human look in his eyes

the kind people give as eye rolls

stare-down between dog and man

are you being for real?

I’m gon’ ignore that!

you’re joking, right??

go away!

I’m done.

Shoo!

****

oh,

but then

Boo Radley

steals my chair, begs

me to sit with him

to assure him that his

world is on its right axis

that he is the favorite dog

begs my forgiveness for his Boo shoos

Boo in my writing chair on 7/2/2024

Sunday Morning Donuts Nonet

they like their mini donut breakfasts

it’s what happens on Sundays here

pre First-Baptist-of-You-Tube

sitting at their dad’s feet

waiting on a bite

patient Schnoodles

best-behavied

time of

all

Great Granny’s Caramel Cake

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my great granny Lena

made a caramel layer cake

second to none

back in the 1930s

between the Great Depression

and the sugar rationing years

teaching her daughters

the fine art of baking

just the way to moisten

the flour

just the way to bake

to touch

just the way to cook

the caramel sauce

not staying true

to any recipe, just

baking from the

knowing

baking from the heart

the way it tastes best

downtown,

a young man

“helps” an old lady across the

street when she

doesn’t want to go

still, emails come

offering to

pound cakes into molds

like this

the kind of store-bought

cake no one raves

about ever:

We are prepared

to support leaders

with individualized

coaching to positively

impact their school districts. 

We have assembled

some of the best professionals

throughout the state to serve

as executive coaches.

We have made it a top priority

to provide this

performance-based l

leadership to inspire

leaders to “GROW” and achieve

maximum impact

my granny Lena knew the art

of a thing could not

underpower

the science of a thing

because frosting-forcing

falls miserably ~ implodes

like a cake that might

have been delicious

Toxic Relics

in Genesis

Lot’s wife looks

back longingly

to the past

before turning into

a pillar of salt ~

so as I part with

these pieces of

past, these

memory scars of

what once was

but is no more

I heed

Luke’s caution ~

that the past can be

the kiss of

death for

the present

old books

have arsenic

old paint

has lead

old memories

have heartache

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The Worms

I checked daily for 

weeks on our baby wrens

in the garage

on the old desk

destined for Goodwill

but when I got

home from work

the nest was destroyed

pulled into the yard

a broken candelabra

shattered on the 

concrete floor beneath

something got our babies

probably the feral cat

the black one that

comes in at night

trips the light 

prowls around on the hunt

I tiptoe sometimes

down the hall to watch it

in its silent quest for a 

field mouse

something found these

baby wrens I’d 

eagerly spied on

from eggs to

nestlings, almost

fledglings,

their tiny mouths

opening for worms

at the slightest 

bump or noise

in nature’s cruel twist

they became

the worms

Rest in peace, little ones.

A Flickering

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at 4:37 I heard

scrambling of paw

on wood floor

ticky-toe hurried

steps toward

the bedroom door

next the whining,

different from normal

pleas, like someone

stepping full weight

on my Boo Radley

then a return to

the bed, where he

turned in circles

bumping us with

his body to wake

us up, then lay

between our heads

trembling

panting

as if there were

a ghost.

I took them out,

all three,

in the light balmy

mist of the

pitch black

Georgia backwoods

starry skies

thought of the bits

of squirrel tail

over near the tree

line where violent

death hung in the

recent air

we came back

inside, and I turned

off the light to return

to bed.

A flicker after the

switch-off, and I

knew.

Hello, Mom!

Visual Vexations

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Visual Vexations

my brother and I

wonder still: were

Mom’s Lewy Body Dementia

confusions visual

distortions or hallucinations?

She saw a little boy in an

orange shirt sitting all alone

at the storefront and worried

about his safety.

We saw a pumpkin.

She saw strange men with

bunches of bananas

under the carport.

We saw family members

building her a wheelchair

ramp with Dewalt power tools.

She heard voices playing

tricks on her. We heard

branches scratching

the shutters in the wind.

Still, we wonder what she

would see now.

Would she know we are

her children, making our

way through this carnival

funhouse with all these

distorting mirrors

of the complex

and the concave,

wondering, too,

what things are?