Domino

 

My dog Domino died about 4 years ago this October.

Domino was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and by managing her diet, giving her a chance to go on very short walks everyday  and making sure she had lots of attention from me and her cat brothers ( who never left her side ) she had low if next to no stress in her day to day life. Domino had a few symptoms show up from day to day and none of the others that you would normally see in a dog suffering from this disease so I consider us lucky.

I won’t fool you, for the last two years of her life I was devoted to Domino and her care and it was a lot of work but I didn’t care-Domino was spirited and smart, she hated to get her paws muddy and loved getting her nails clipped and when she was a puppy she fought off and got the better of a dog that outweighed her by over 40 pounds.

Domino was an exceptional creature- second to none, two or four legged.

Domino and her brothers- when she got ill they insisted on going on walks with us.

 

One thing bothers me though- it bothered me the night she died and it bothers me now.

I had come home from work and as usual we went on our little walk, we ate dinner and we settled down to watch some TV in our bedroom.

After a few minutes  started to cough and then she got up, turned around a few times in her bed, she got comfortable and she died.

 

Domino went on her own clock, I believe that.

She knew what she wanted ( her walk, her dinner with Mom and our evening of tv watching ) and after she had her regular day she let go.

 

Me and Domino were alone together on the night she died- I put her pink blanket on her but I didn’t cover her face.

She had been such a pretty dog that I couldn’t do that- and I thought that if there was little spark in there somewhere, I wanted her to see me and her cat brothers until she was really gone.

I don’t know what I wanted to give her in those final moments of her life- she sort of ninja moved her way out of the world- but I guess was what bothered me was that she knew she was going to die  and I didn’t- I thought it was going to be another evening at home with my girl.

But it wasn’t like any other day – she died at the foot of my bed.

And I never got to say goodbye.

Domino shortly before she died- last month she would have turned 18 years old.

 

Daily Post Prompt: None

 

 

 

Wolfgang’s Garden

Photo: AM. Moscoso

I don’t know what to do with myself when Spring comes.

I used to have an herb garden.

I collected herbs the way other people collect friends on Facebook.

My cat Wolfgang would sit and supervise and  I would talk to him and he would ignore me and we both had a good time.

One day I noticed Wolfie was holding his head at a funny angle and drinking bowls of water in a day.

His kidneys were failing and by Summer he was gone and I let my herb garden go wild and most of it died off and I didn’t care.

I buried Wolfgang out there and to this day I stay out of  what used to be our favorite place in the yard.

I don’t know what to do with myself when the Spring comes.

I guess I’ll hide until the Winter and hope the snow comes and covers what’s left of me and Wolfgang’s Garden.

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Daily Post: Ruminate

Home

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One grave belongs to my cat, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

The other is a grave in New Orleans

It’s funny how these places where we leave our dead remain the center of our lives for so long- we visit them, care for them and as time goes by we leave them to their new homes and say how beautiful their resting place is.

Besides:  They have a new family among the dead.

Maybe we stay away after a spell because we’re jealous of that.

I will be honest.

I am.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Daily Post: Center

 

Hamish and The Wolf

DAILY PROMPT

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

Miniature

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso (2014)

Hamish Macbeth

was tiny, sweet and small

He had yellow eyes, a bounce his in step and no manners at all.

I thought he’d be like that forever, a pint sized funny dog

And then one day he disappeared and in his place I found:

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Hamish Macbeth all grown up

Smart and sweet and tall.

My yellowed eyed boy grew  up

But in my eyes he’s still so small.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso (1991)

Wolfgang Amadeus

was tiny, sweet and small

He was everything a cat should be

with a little touch of dog

Photo: AM. Moscoso

Photo: AM. Moscoso

We grew old  together

my blue eyed Wolf and me

when he died

and left me

I felt so very

small.

I Walk A Lonely Street

Daily Prompt

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

TOURIST

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Well, since my baby left me,
I found a new place to dwell.
It’s down at the end of lonely street
at Heartbreak Hotel.

Photo A.M. Mocoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

And although it’s always crowded,
you still can find some room.
Where broken hearted lovers
do cry away their gloom.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Hey now, if your baby leaves you,
and you got a tale to tell.
Just take a walk down lonely street
to Heartbreak Hotel.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Well, the Bell hop’s tears keep flowin’,
and the desk clerk’s dressed in black.
Well they been so long on lonely street
They ain’t ever gonna look back.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

You make me so lonely baby,
I get so lonely,
I get so lonely I could die.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photos By A.M Moscoso

Lyrics ” Heartbreak Hotel” By

Axton/Durden

I Hate Lemon Juice

Not Lemonade

 When life gives you lemons… make something else. Tell us about a time you used an object or resolved a tricky situation in an unorthodox way.

devilgirl

The last time I think I did anything particularly clever I was 14 or maybe 15 years old.

I was failing at every single class in school and managed to talk my way into staying in regular classes and not get myself bounced into Special Education.

Basically I said if they did that to me I’d quit school.

So they let me stay in regular classes and I started to do well and then I hit the honor roll and then I got accused of cheating.

So I would go into my math classes and goof off so the best I would do is pass the tests at a C or D. I chose to sacrifice my math grade because I truly and with the passion of million white hot suns HATED math.

I got sympathy for that because “girls’ were supposed to struggle with math.

I could bomb at Nuclear levels at math which was acceptable- nobody talked about putting me in Spec Ed for that.

Come to think of it, I was writing a lot back in those days and I even won awards and that is the only reason I wasn’t forced marched into classes with students who were even more challenged then I was.

Once I got into Highschool I either got A’s or F’s.

You know who cared?

That’s right.

Nobody.

Since then I can’t say I’ve done anything really clever, haven’t been bailed out of dire situations, haven’t scored any big wins in the game of life.

Most of the time I’m just glad to not get noticed on a day to day basis. I’m not sure, but I think writing sort of cancels that one out.

It’s odd, part of me has been ready to fade into obscurity and another part of me goes out and writes, hits the enter button on my laptop and sends my thoughts out to the interwebs where they will float around until the Interwebs are no more.

So writing I suppose is the way I’ve dealt with life jamming lemons down my throat.

I’ve lost people I cared about, my nephew died a young man, I suffer from depression and at times all I can manage is to get to work, come home and walk the dog.

I manage to write though even on my worst days.

There could be less interesting ways to make something out of lemons  I suppose.