Samantha, by Edward Albee

They weren't with me
When I was taken in to die.
They were in Spain.

They lay on a bed in Grenada
With the phone to their ear
And they cried when they told them,
Cried into the phone.

I know that much.

I was kept for them
Curled in a frozen sleep
Until they came back.

They dug a hole then
(He and his friend dug a hole then)
On the point, by the ocean
Where all the others had been laid:
Poochie, Jennifer, Harry, Andrew, Jane,
and the cats
Cunegonde, Sarah, Leslie, Dorothy, Jake.

They dug a hole and put me in it.
Gentle Diane, the potter,
Baked clay biscuits for me
Placed them.
(Very Egyptian for an Irish Wolfhound. . . .
. . .but nice.)

I liked being with all the others,
On the point, by the ocean,
Especially Andrew, especially Jake.

I wonder -
- when it comes time
For the diggers, for gentle Diane,
Will they be put here too?
On the point? By the ocean? With us?

I hope so.
.

Festivities and a Film

Just when I thought that I'd have to pumpkin patch all by my lonesome, J- and I were magically off at the same time on the same day. It was nothing short of a miracle and so we went to the pumpkin patch. Pumpkins always find themselves in my bathroom and this year is no exception. We have a pumpkin in our bathroom waiting until the next day both J- and I are off. I guess I can use this time to brainstorm a great carving idea.

Carving pumpkins in an apartment always sounds like a huge chore to me, but I am determined not to let this pumpkin, like so many that have come before it, go un-carved. We will butcher that thing and put it outside of our apartment door like a normal couple, so help me!

On a different note, it takes something pretty extraordinary to keep me up past 11 P.M. these days and last night I discovered just that: Annie Hall. Oh my word. What took me so long to see it? I find so many movies to be mind-numbing, eye-rolling worthy, and way too formulaic that I lose interest about 40 minutes in, but I didn't want this one to end. If we didn't already have our costume idea...

Sorry for the banal post. The clouds are back, thank goodness! Now I am going to curl up on the couch with the best pooch in the word and watch "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." Don't judge.

Dear Seattle,

Good morning and I love you.

-M

Next Tattoo

A noodle. Why you ask? Because Maya is a noodle and it's better than a paw-print tattoo.

The Revenant

I have always loved this poem. A few years ago, I think I heard Billy Collins recite it on 'This American Life' and it's stuck with me. This morning I watched "My Dog: An Unconditional Love Story" which I'll admit is a sappy way to spend a Sunday morning, but I really don't care. I cried. I don't mind admitting that either. Maya's only two and a half, but every singe day I dread her passing. When she had her first seizure, I wept and begged her not to leave me. She didn't understand what the big deal was. I have more love for her than my partner and friends combined which perhaps is unhealthy, but again, I don't care.

In the movie, Billy Collins was being interviewed and he said that the best way to test whether your spouse or dog loves you more is to lock them both in a trunk for an hour and see who is more happy to see you when you open it back up. The dog always wins.

The Revenant - Billy Collins

I am the dog you put to sleep,

as you like to call the needle of oblivion,

come back to tell you this simple thing:

I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,

I thought of biting off your nose.

When I watched you toweling yourself dry,

I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,

your lack of animal grace,

the way you would sit in a chair to eat,

a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,

but I was too weak, a trick you taught me

while I was learning to sit and heel,

and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash

would excite me

but only because it meant I was about

to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,

but I have no reason to lie.

I hated the car, the rubber toys,

disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.

You always scratched me in the wrong place.

All I ever wanted from you

was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe

as the moon rose in the sky.

It took all of my strength

not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,

the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,

the absurdity of your lawn,

and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed

and are glad it did not happen sooner--

that everyone here can read and write,

the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.