On Dogs

Finding a safe harbor poem

/ Fran Haley / 19 Comments

National Poetry Month continues, and while I have been writing a poem each day in April, I have not posted them all here on the blog.

Today I return to post about “safe harbors.”

Yesterday for VerseLove at Ethical ELA, poet Padma Venkatraman offered this prompt along with her own beautiful work as an example: “Think about a place that feels like a safe harbor to you – and bring that space alive in a poem.”

Ah. I knew exactly what to write about…

Haven

I should convert
one of the boys’
old bedrooms
to a study
where I can write
with fewer
interruptions

but here
at the kitchen table
is my place

here
there are windows
all around

I open the blinds
while it is yet dark

inviting the light
before its return

bringing with it, birds
rippling with song
praise for the morning
and the new day

these colorful
feathered visitors
peer in my windows
from time to time
like curious, bright-eyed
Muses

—yes, I am here
—yes, I see you, too

and sometimes
when my husband
turns on the TV
in the living room
I grow weary
of the news
and sports

but when
he goes away
he leaves music playing
for the puppy

playing under my chair
little ball of golden fluff
having dragged every toy
he owns
to my feet

where he whimpers
just now
to be held

and so I pick him up

he curls in my lap
while I write
to the background song
a’rippling:

If my words did glow
with the gold of sunshine…

yeah, the Grateful Dead…

here in my place
my beloved space

I write

ever grateful, alive.

******

Lyrics: “Ripple,” Robert Hunter/Jerome Garcia, 1970.

My Jesse

with thanks also to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge

Saving the best for last

/ Fran Haley / 48 Comments

Late in the evening, my husband and I are sitting in the living room watching TV, when all of a sudden he lowers the volume and turns to me.

He says: “You know I love you.”

“Yeeeesss…” I reply, a little bell of warning jangling in my mind. Something in his tone….

“Well,” he goes on, “I have something to tell you.”

Immediate thought: Something is wrong. A doctor has called with not-good news. Anything is possible. Since 2015 my husband has suffered much: the loss of an eye, heart attacks, cardiac arrest, two heart surgeries, a spinal fusion, and this past winter, heart ablation to treat arrhythmias that left him light-headed and out of breath…

What now??

My own heart begins to fail…but I have to ask:

“What is it?” The only thing worse than knowing is not knowing.

He pulls up a photo on his phone:

“What do you think of this?”

A puppy on a website? I’m confused. “Precious!” I say.

My husband looks at me for a moment. Then…

“He’s ours. I put a deposit on him three days ago.”

What I am hearing? Is this real? Am I dreaming?

And then we both begin to cry.

He knows how much I’ve been wanting a dog since our youngest moved out last fall and took Dennis the dachshund with him.

I know it isn’t fair to expect him to care for a dog when his strength is impaired and I’m at work during the day…and so I’ve tried to let go of my longing.

But ever since the ablation, he’s been strong. Energetic. Renewed.

He is ready.

We are ready.

Ready for the next chapter of this beautiful life God has granted us, with our boys married and settled nearby, with our granddaughters growing up, bringing us infinite joy and laughter. Ready to celebrate the milestones of my sixtieth birthday this spring and our fortieth wedding anniversary this summer. Ready to love a little golden-red animal in our golden years…

Favorite lines from Robert Browning come to mind:

Grow old along with me!
   The best is yet to be…

And so it came to pass, on Saturday while the granddaughters were staying with us, that my husband brought our baby home.

Our granddaughter, Scout, was so overcome that she cried.

Our granddaughter Micah’s reaction…glee.

—Exponential joy.

We named him Jesse. Hebrew for God’s gift.

In looking over the breeder’s information, I noticed a thing: Jesse was born on January 28… the day I was driving to work, feeling despondent, praying aloud to God for encouragement…and saw the eagle in the tree…

“Jesse” also means God exists.

My heart is too full for any more words.

I may not be writing many words for a while, anyway, as my hands are pretty full…

Here’s to the ongoing story of life, with all its golden glories shining through every challenge, and wonders untold waiting just around the bend.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
—we made it through, fellow Slicers!
I celebrate you all.
Joy to you on your journey.

Scavenger

/ Fran Haley / 16 Comments

My newlywed son and his bride are still settling into their home here in the countryside. Every day they savor the sunrise over the pond and the wildlife that takes their presence in stride. Red-shouldered hawks sail in and out of the trees. White-tailed deer creep to the edge of the yard at night, their eyes glowing in the firelight from the backyard pit.

One day, my son said: “I think we have a raccoon. Or a possum. Something is getting into our trash every night and scattering it all over the yard.”

“What will you do?” I asked.

“For now, just watch and see if we can figure out what it is.”

So it was that as my son and my daughter-in-law were sitting by the firepit one crisp evening, they heard the telletale rattle of plastic from the trashcan.

The creature had arrived.

My boy and his bride strained their eyes, trying to make it out.

Small. Not gray. Not a possum.

A bit of brown, a patch of white…not a raccoon.

They finally got a good look at the wild thing:

A dog.

A beagle, to be precise.

With a great deal of coaxing, the skittish scavenger finally crept over to them on its belly.

Covered in layers of greasy residue, wearing a monstrous shock collar that had left a bald place on its neck, the little dog slithered over and submitted himself to his new family, who loved him from that very first moment. They bathed him, fed him, cut away the collar and pitched it, took him to the vet, made every effort to find the owner (no chip). They give him meds to rid him of heartworms.

His name? Buddy. That’s what they called out to him, the night he was hiding in the brush, deciding if he could trust them or not.

“Come here, buddy,” they’d called. “It’s ok, buddy. We won’t hurt you.”

They have learned that they have to keep the dog food secured or he’ll bust into it when they’re gone…the scavenger days are too recent, plus, beagles are known to gorge themselves.

Buddy seems to have learned, though. that his days of insecurity are over.

He’s made himself at home:

He’s even made a new friend that he utterly adores:

Dennis the dachshund has been most gracious toward his new sibling…he just won’t be outdone for attention, as you can see.

I’ll say it for my husband, for my boy and his wife, for their two cats, two guinea pigs, and hammy little dachshund: There’s one more thing to love and cherish here in our neck of the woods.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge

King no more

/ Fran Haley / 15 Comments

I cannot confess
to any success
playing
chess

and nevermore now
since

mine dog Dennis
—vicious brute!
—sharp of tooth!
has, forsooth!
—finished

the King.

Or, almost.

The beast
heretofore lieth
under mine table
chewing on some thing

methought was a bone…

but no

nonny nonny no.

‘Twas the King.

—Alas and alack!
The thing
is King
no more.

A sneak attack
whereupon
said brute,
confronted
subdued
scolded
and
marked
for banishment,

now groveleth
for all hims is worth
on mine floor.

Thinketh thou that the tiny wag of thine tail wilt redeem thee, miscreant?
Arrgh! Poor little Den-Den! It’s okay! I forgive thee pretty much anything.
Even the destruction of said King.

*******

Composed for Day 16 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Serene senryu

/ Fran Haley / 18 Comments

For peace at day’s end
speak little; hold your truths close.
Let sleeping dogs lie.

My granddaughter, Scout, with Dennis the dachshund during a sleepover.

Senryu is Japanese poetry of three lines and 17 morae (syllables), usually arranged 5-7-5, similar to haiku. Traditional haiku is focused on nature, whereas senryu reveals something about the nature of humans in a lively, funny (often “punny”), dark, or ironic way.

Seemed a symbolic way to capture this serene Slice of Life scene.

*******

Composed for Day 8 of the Slice of Life Story Writing Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Your one wild and precious life

/ Fran Haley / 15 Comments

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”

Dennis the dachshund’s advice for life:

Sleep often and late. Use many blankets.

Comfort the sick. Be a constant presence.

Every day is good for blue jeans (fresh from the dryer, preferably).

Play with children as often as possible.
(Left: Scout, age 4, Dennis, 7 weeks. Right: Dennis, age 3, Scout, age 7)

Whatever it is you want, give it your best shot. Never give up!

*******

dedicated with love to Joanne Emery, who’s been asking about Dennis

& with thanks to:

poet Mary Oliver, who loved dogs

Two Writing Teachers, for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge

and Dennis, for brightening my every day with his wild and precious life

Doggerel

/ Fran Haley / 17 Comments

noun

  1. comic verse composed in irregular rhythm.
    “doggerel verses”
    • verse or words that are badly written or expressed.
      “the last stanza deteriorates into doggerel”

Example:

Time for a nap
time to recharge
if only for a bit
on a teeny-tiny pillow
that ain’t a good fit

this is what comes
of living large

My son’s dog, Henry. Well-spoiled.
A master of making himself look “pitemous,” as you can see.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge
and to you, Dear Reader, for enduring this bit
of doggerel.

Man and dog

/ Fran Haley / 1 Comment

On my drive to work
at the stop sign
where the grassy green field
borders the rail-fence pasture
where two horses graze
beside the goat pen
where fat little
brown-and-white goats
rest atop their knees
beside the still waters
of the glassy pond
with rising mist

I see a man
walking his old, old dog
(its body is black
but its face as white
as snow)

as I pass
they walk and walk
in the autumn-chill
of another new day
against a backdrop
of brilliant red-orange-gold
and moody sky

the dog’s amber eyes gleam
as it it chugs along
despite weary bones

somehow
this continuity
this reliability
this faithfulness
every morning
is a tonic
to my soul

a shot of goodness
an understanding
that in the far, quiet reaches
something is right
so right
with the world

Cornfield Man. h.koppdelaney. CC BY-ND 2.0.