There's a classic book still standing on the elementary school library shelf that spells out the story of a little boy that grows all too quickly. Right into a pair man eyes, middle aged toes, old man shoulders and several chapters of "I wish I could have."
With him the entire way a onetime seedling turned very tall and extremely green tree.
Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree teaches valuable life lessons in the way of respecting all things living and everything connected.
Once a book's been read. It's set the side often forgotten. Until the day. That particular moment. When all things bright beautiful and forever ends up staring back at you in separated mirrors.
Nobody expects to one day walk down a boney mountain path headed toward an unpainted horizon with a former hairless puppy turned wonder dog now brittle, chilled and completely torn as to how he or she is going to say goodbye.
I thought maybe. Just possibly. A little selfish to think. If someone rescues enough heart strings from being pulled by bad bullies attached to societies upbringing. Numbness becomes the way of rule.
I can still smell the southern Carolina air that bit the midwinter's day the moment Sami and I crossed creeks while chasing wandering clouds. Huge brown eyes. A wild head of white hair. But that's it. Not a lick of protection anywhere since. He's Chinese Crested.
He had traveled several hundred miles already. I was the half way point. The middle of the bleak streak dedicated to locating a lucky clover. To swiftly turn around. Crank up and help heal uncaring chapters that I couldn't erase but that meeting forward...I knew I'd change.
A bouncy boy! Rabbits and grasshoppers had nothing on this living creation! And talk? Wow! A roll it around in your throat type of moaner that believes everything spoke in dog is easily understood within the grips of human ears. I was constantly stuck in a pit of mud assuming I knew exactly where Sami was coming from.
Dog stories are rarely different from tree tales. Seasons evolve. Summer turns into Fall. Winter into Spring. Summer then becomes summer again. Winter becomes the day you question everything. The favors are no longer puppy hugs and tugs but stuffed under the corner of the heart middle of the night nose to nozzle conversations.
A simple thank you seems to work for a while. Then after a night of coughing the paw is held. He's tucked tighter under your body as if to say, "No wind of change can penetrate my extremely hard human shell!"
We got to visit the puppy spa owner the other day. She's multiple in medical training years. Me and my Sami. His heart she did listen to. Pat pat pat on his fuzzy head. She didn't seem to be bothered by him no longer walking. Then again I might have covered that but don't remember because so much of him is still missing and I'm trying to collect everything.
She loved how Sami still goes camping. Takes puppy buggy rides through the neighborhood and gets extremely excited when I walk nearby.
Then she took his blood. Never once trying to hide. We both know. The time. It's coming faster than yesterday arrived. Holding true. And his paw late into the night. The coughs are always. As is my love, friendship and complete understanding. For he needs to know. That everything he brought with him on that cold Carolina winter's day has never left the shelf where my life story books are shelved.
His look into my eyes last night seemed to say just the right message, "If you find yourself trapped and well worn of this planet... I'm gonna be the "impossible" you put away because it was much too heavy in weight. I'll be the whisper that warms your dreams. I'll be music that magically appears when walking. I'll be the mask you want to hide behind. I'll be the bench in the center of an invisible park with a sign that reads: 120 steps to Heaven. 13 to Hell. You made a choice in your life to love me unconditionally. Death doesn't part. It's my turn to catch the cloud that'll make you bark. I can't and won't say I miss you. I refuse to cry a tear. There's a classic book still standing on your library shelf that spells out the story of a little boy that grows all too quickly. Right into a pair man eyes, middle aged toes, old man shoulders and several chapters of "I can't wait to do it again and again."
There's a classic book still standing on the elementary school library shelf that spells out the story of a little boy that grows all too quickly. Right into a pair man eyes, middle aged toes, old man shoulders and several chapters of "I wish I could have."
With him the entire way a onetime seedling turned very tall and extremely green tree.
Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree teaches valuable life lessons in the way of respecting all things living and everything connected.
Once a book's been read. It's set the side often forgotten. Until the day. That particular moment. When all things bright beautiful and forever ends up staring back at you in separated mirrors.
Nobody expects to one day walk down a boney mountain path headed toward an unpainted horizon with a former hairless puppy turned wonder dog now brittle, chilled and completely torn as to how he or she is going to say goodbye.
I thought maybe. Just possibly. A little selfish to think. If someone rescues enough heart strings from being pulled by bad bullies attached to societies upbringing. Numbness becomes the way of rule.
I can still smell the southern Carolina air that bit the midwinter's day the moment Sami and I crossed creeks while chasing wandering clouds. Huge brown eyes. A wild head of white hair. But that's it. Not a lick of protection anywhere since. He's Chinese Crested.
He had traveled several hundred miles already. I was the half way point. The middle of the bleak streak dedicated to locating a lucky clover. To swiftly turn around. Crank up and help heal uncaring chapters that I couldn't erase but that meeting forward...I knew I'd change.
A bouncy boy! Rabbits and grasshoppers had nothing on this living creation! And talk? Wow! A roll it around in your throat type of moaner that believes everything spoke in dog is easily understood within the grips of human ears. I was constantly stuck in a pit of mud assuming I knew exactly where Sami was coming from.
Dog stories are rarely different from tree tales. Seasons evolve. Summer turns into Fall. Winter into Spring. Summer then becomes summer again. Winter becomes the day you question everything. The favors are no longer puppy hugs and tugs but stuffed under the corner of the heart middle of the night nose to nozzle conversations.
A simple thank you seems to work for a while. Then after a night of coughing the paw is held. He's tucked tighter under your body as if to say, "No wind of change can penetrate my extremely hard human shell!"
We got to visit the puppy spa owner the other day. She's multiple in medical training years. Me and my Sami. His heart she did listen to. Pat pat pat on his fuzzy head. She didn't seem to be bothered by him no longer walking. Then again I might have covered that but don't remember because so much of him is still missing and I'm trying to collect everything.
She loved how Sami still goes camping. Takes puppy buggy rides through the neighborhood and gets extremely excited when I walk nearby.
Then she took his blood. Never once trying to hide. We both know. The time. It's coming faster than yesterday arrived. Holding true. And his paw late into the night. The coughs are always. As is my love, friendship and complete understanding. For he needs to know. That everything he brought with him on that cold Carolina winter's day has never left the shelf where my life story books are shelved.
His look into my eyes last night seemed to say just the right message, "If you find yourself trapped and well worn of this planet... I'm gonna be the "impossible" you put away because it was much too heavy in weight. I'll be the whisper that warms your dreams. I'll be music that magically appears when walking. I'll be the mask you want to hide behind. I'll be the bench in the center of an invisible park with a sign that reads: 120 steps to Heaven. 13 to Hell. You made a choice in your life to love me unconditionally. Death doesn't part. It's my turn to catch the cloud that'll make you bark. I can't and won't say I miss you. I refuse to cry a tear. There's a classic book still standing on your library shelf that spells out the story of a little boy that grows all too quickly. Right into a pair man eyes, middle aged toes, old man shoulders and several chapters of "I can't wait to do it again and again."
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