April 2009


Easter. Another pagan transform to catholic religion. I won’t complain for one reason: It means day off!
For me it’s also, well…when I was near my mother, and when my grand mother was alive, chocolate day! It’s also the weekend bunny rabbits will get scared. Of what? Lil kids visiting farms and pulling those fluffy ears. Parents who are stupid enough to by a rabbit for the weekend and then will end up either in a shelter, the streets, the forest (it ain’t a wild hare!) or on the table…
I actually won’t be surprise to see a riot in farms someday… rabbits will team up with lil yellow chicks with signs….
Anyways, get plush toys at this time of year, if you’re intelligent….

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Is it wrong wanting to be by his side constantly?
Is it wrong wanting love from someone endlessly?
Is it wrong to love someone infinitely?
Is it wrong to feel pain when you don’t hear the same from thee?
Is it wrong wanting to be the only one he will see?
Is it wrong to be me?

Paranoia.
Something to hide?
Need oppressive love.
Lack of confidence?
Need help to go forward.
Without means slow death.
Won’t wait.
Will enroll and face it instead?
Never come back.
Don’t want it to happen.
Will do anything.
Til energy leaves.
Need stifling love.
Need thee.
Need thee.

Ever stopped a second and wondered…:

– Why do we work? To pay ourselves treats…. And when exactly do you take time to enjoy it after working, doing the grocery, dinner, shower?… OoOops Bedtime! No, you work for the big boss’s vacations and 350 000$ Boat, he gets the treats you get to die at work to survive with all the bills.
– Why is it always elders that win the lottery? Loto-Quebec thinks that they might die in 2 days and won’t have to pay them the prize and/or they actually think that younger people didn’t suffer enough yet on the job trying to get through debts and the loud neighbors of the apartment building.
– Why can’t you find a specific drink when you have a rage? That’s easy, just to piss you off… or there were 50 people with the same rage that day and they actually did the same 10 stores before you!
– Why are the big payments comes the months you have the less money? The same reason as number 2….
– Why do I write this? Fun…. But mostly tired physically, mentally, money-wise, job-wise…. Hopefully the 6/49 ticket in my wallet is a winner……..

You want a pet? read this first. I cry like a baby each time I read it.

How Could you?

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh.
You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?” – but then you’d relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs,” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a “dog person” – still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.”

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch, because your touch was now so infrequent – and I would have defended them with my life if need be.

I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her.”

They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with “papers.”

You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don’t let them take my dog!”

And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet, and now I have one, too.

After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads, and asked “How could you?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago.

At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you – that you had changed your mind – that this was all a bad dream …. or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago.

She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?”

Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself, a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of . I will think of you and wait for you forever.

May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

Copyright Jim Willis 2001

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