Caison Michael’s 8th birthday celebration. My little Munchkin Man is 8 now! *SOBS* Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Flying Time by Tremaine L. Loadholt
He’s eight now, Time flies, wow! Can’t keep my emotions intact The little ones are growing so fast I remember diaper-changing days, Now that period has flown away. I watch as he sprouts to the sky, His beauty and loving heart soaring high. Could it be just another year, One destined to leave me in tears, Or is it a momentous occasion, A turn of time with persuasion, And a final blow to my chest, OUCH!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
Part III: There is no routine anymore; we just wing it
Part II of the previous video: Jernee and post-breakfast-time|the treat.
I called Jernee’s Vet yesterday, Monday, September 08, 2025, and made sure the Intake Receptionist changed our upcoming appointment to reflect an End-of-Life visit and not to simply discuss it.
Since my last post, several other things have taken place, including Jernee developing a head tic and now walking robotically and in calculated steps. I wish I could describe it much better, but this is how I see it come to life in my mind when I think of how to describe it to others.
She also snapped at one of our neighbors and almost bit her this past Saturday, September 06, 2025, and then did the same thing to me on Sunday, September 07, 2025. Let me be clear… Jernee has NEVER done this. She loves our neighbors and is such a welcoming presence to anyone she meets.
I can only imagine what my baby girl is going through, how her world must look and feel incredibly foreign to her. I was assured by the Intake Receptionist that everything I told her about Jernee warrants euthanasia. She is only going to get worse.
Below are the documentation notes I emailed to our vet, and I also shared two of the six videos I recorded of her. The Vet who is going to perform the service will review the information and prepare herself accordingly:
Saturday, August 23, 2025, at 10:15 AM, Jernee urinated in her bed while staring off in a dazed and confused state. I had just given her a bath and placed her in her bed because she couldn’t get there on her own.
Monday, August 25, 2025, at 5:17 PM, Jernee fell while standing up while waiting for me to open our door.
Thursday, August 28, 2025 at 05:52 AM, Jernee ran full speed into our coat closet door right across from our bedroom entrance while I was tidying up her crate’s bedding.
Same Day: At 7:24 PM, Jernee urinated on the concrete path directly in front of our building’s door. She has never done that.
Saturday, August 30,2025 (time, unknown): Jernee urinated on the living room rug while I was away at work. This is not something she does normally.
Same Day, 5:55 PM: Jernee ran head on, full speed into the wall of the elevator.
Sunday, August 31, 2025, at 3:55 PM: Jernee pooped in the middle of the street.
Monday, September 01, 2025 at 09:22 AM: Jernee urinated in the street/pathway to our grassy areas of our apartment community.
Same Day at 6:06 PM: Jernee pooped on the sidewalk. She has almost no control over her bowels anymore.
Thursday, September 04, 2025 (time unknown): Jernee urinated in the middle of our living room floor. We have hardwood floors, and there are always 2 pee pee pads down for her in front of our fireplace.
Saturday, September 06, 2025, at 3:50 PM: Jernee snapped at one of our neighbors while she was gently petting her. She loves our neighbors, and was typically very open to being petted by them.
Sunday, September 07, 2025, at 07:57 AM: While outside, Jernee stared off into the distance and barked twice. Nothing was there.
Same day, at 7:40 PM: While on the elevator in our building, I attempted to stroke Jernee’s head, and she snapped at me, and tried to bite me.
I have the box that Jernee will be buried in, and I will wrap it in all brown wrapping paper. I’ll place her on a towel and blanket, and put her stuffed monkey in the box with her.
Friday is just around the corner, and my baby’s last days are, in fact, last days.
How will I be without her? Who will I be without her? What will I do without her?
I foresee a lot of sad days ahead after this coming Friday, but I will also reach into my memory bank and pull out my fondest memories of her, of us. I have known the best love a human being can know; one without conditions, judgment, or manipulation.
Jernee Timid: Fading away from all that she knows.
August 23, 2025, before a short afternoon walk, I came into the living room from our bedroom and found Jernee like this.
If you have followed Jernee & I for a number of years, you know I document it all. From Jernee’s highlights to the downsides of being a pet mom.
She used to have a blog completely dedicated to her and our adventures. I think that is how I met many of you. Funny how I have forgotten what the name of that blog was. If any of you remember, please share it in the comments.
The last few years have been rough. Overall, this Little Monster has been the most magnificent companion. I could not have asked for a better dog.
She has been my peace. She has been my joy. She has been every ounce of love that I’ve needed in the witching hour.
Since my late cousin Chrissy’s death in February of 2022, I have learned a new way to approach death & dying. I face it head on; feel all the emotions that I need to–lose myself in it, and grieve… grieve… grieve.
The morning comes when the mourning is done.
Jernee Timid has been a firecracker since her very first day with me, which was May 28, 2008. She was six weeks old. She cried on the way home to Greensboro, North Carolina (at that time) from Wilmington, North Carolina, which is where she is from.
A reputable breeder sold her to me, and I whisked her away from her remaining brother and sister (Bella & Butler) of their litter. She wailed & wailed, and I thought, “I haven’t heard a dog cry like this since we picked up Nala (Mook’s first baby girl puppy) from her breeder.”
Jernee made such a ruckus, I had to pull over at a gas station about ten miles away, shift her from her doggy bed, and set her up comfortably in my lap for the remainder of the drive to her new home.
From that day, I knew she was going to get any and everything out of me that she wanted. She was spoiled from Day One.
She settled into our family like she belonged here–like she had previously claimed us, and she was just waiting for us to come and bring her home.
I have to remind myself that everyone cannot handle this level of decline in Jernee. Not many can endure the videos I will share. My kid brother, for example, lived with us for three years, and Jernee is his baby.
I’ve seen that kid go to war verbally about her, and I know for a fact he will beat a person down bare-handed if ever they wronged Jernee. He calls her Princess Jay or Jay Nasty (please don’t ask me why, the kid isn’t right! 😆🤣😂).
I’ve been sharing the videos with him, and he told me this evening, “Man, no matter how much we say we are good, we can never prepare for these things. Man, I keep watching this video, I started crying. It’s hard to see Jernee like this, fr, so I know you are exhausted. I’m praying for you, sis. I love you.”
He is the baby boy. I am ten years older than him. He has always had a special place in my heart, but he is the only one who can make me go from Zero to One Hundred in five seconds flat, too.
He cannot deal with the reality of this. He keeps telling me I’m strong and asking how can I record Jernee when she’s fading. My response to him, “How can I not? I love Jernee in life. I’m going to love Jernee in death. This is our reality now, until it’s not. I have recorded many happy times. I find it essential to record the sad times, too.”
So, I will. And if this is not going to be your thing, I get it. I understand it. It’s not easy to digest. But it is my baby girl’s life, and I will immerse myself in it until I have nothing left of her.
Jernee Timid: This was taken on a “good” day, August 15, 2025. Her right eye is in and out of healing. Something’s causing it to fill with blood, and then it’ll dissolve and won’t appear again for days. $920.72 spent on August 03, 2025, has NOT resolved the issue.
Jernee’s living her best life during her last days–Princess Puppy striking a pose–braving a lucid moment… she’s my heart’s beats outside of me.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
I will miss this sweet face. She means the entire world to me.
Jernee has a vet visit for Friday, September 12, 2025, at 0900. The first thing we will discuss is end-of-life options, and I’m preparing myself for that date to be her last with me.
Letting go should be easy, but I can tell you with 100% certainty that it is not. However, I won’t prolong the inevitable.
These next few weeks are going to try my patience due to Jernee’s decline, but I am going to do everything in my power to make sure she has the best last days on God’s green earth.
I may not have the mental wherewithal to respond to comments, but I will leave them on, and I thank you for any warm wishes, peaceful thoughts, and words of wisdom in advance.
A Father’s Day tribute to the fathers who are doing what they should, when they should, and how they should for their children.
AI-Generated Image: A Black father and his young daughter hugging each other and smiling.
Hey, Daddy. Is it okay for me to still call you, “Daddy?” At my age, it seems infantile and off-key… somehow, I feel that you don’t mind. I know you don’t mind. Over the years, I’ve taken the time to reflect on what it must have been like for you, a young father in your teenage years, trying to raise a daughter. What did you have to learn and how? Did you have questions? Were you afraid? Did you look at me and see hope, fear, and pain? How did you manage to pour so much love into me as a man I never knew I needed when you didn’t have a father yourself?
I’ve never met my grandfather. He died while you were still eating icies on park benches or chasing girls on skates. Remember that story you told me about that one neighborhood chick who smacked you in the face with her skate and chipped your front tooth? What were you doing? Ah, yes… you smacked her on the ass when you saw her walk by. Serves you right. I think I even told you that. And you mentioned, Grandma Tiggs (your grandmother, my great-grandmother) whooped your behind shortly after for good measure. Ha! Again, serves you right! You told me you learned a valuable lesson; women’s bodies are sacred and should be treated as such.
You still have that chipped front tooth.
Yet, that didn’t stop you from dipping into and dodging multiple women. You were a quiet ho. You have told me this a number of times. Said you couldn’t outrun the blood in your veins–the many men before you who’d ho’ed around and gotten away with it. Multiple Rolling Stone Papas in our family. You were just following suit–raised by the role models who were too busy modeling in between the sheets instead of teaching you how to properly treat a girl/young lady/woman.
And there you were, looking at a baby girl with your entire face staring back at you. 360° of change crept into your heart. You saw a version of yourself you knew you needed to take care of–needed to protect. I became a means to an end for you… a savior of sorts? Yes! Isn’t that what you said?
Mama mentioned being jealous of me the first few years of my life.
I stole her man.
Me with my big, bright brown eyes. Me with my uneven lips. Me with my smooth, sandy red hair, laid evenly on my head. I stole her man. How could someone fix their mouth to say something like that to their child? I remember cocking my head to the side, shifting my expression, and rebutting, “Oh, is that right?” to her because what else was there to say?
But I look back at our pictures and I notice your smile is a bit wider–a bit happier–a bit more focused, and it was all for me. I was your show-stopper, your new reason for living. So, maybe jealousy was warranted from a woman who spent her high school years chasing behind a man, catching him, then breaking his heart before he could break hers.
I doted on you. Everything you did mesmerized me–I longed to be at my Daddy’s side. 19 years later… after the divorce… after the boys… after trials, errors, tribulations, and victories, you created another version of yourself who looks so much like me. Together, we’ve stolen your heart. You no longer have it. It’s split in half between the two of us. And as much as I wanted to fight her for it when she was born, I cannot deny the fact that she needs it just as much as I do.
And you never loved me any differently. You never changed. You still, Hey Baby’d me every time I called. I only felt like I was losing you because you no longer lived at home. Home was another place for you. In another world, far from what my longing heart needed. I was left with a mother who didn’t know herself, so she ran behind men to find the pieces of her life she dropped in the dank spaces of clubs and hot corners.
I don’t think the boys will ever understand what your girls have with you–what we mean. The first and the last. They’re all in the middle. You have to gather them up one by one and spew different, varied versions of the same scripture into their minds:
Proverbs 4:1:“Hear, O sons, a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight.”
Proverbs 4:1:“Hear, O sons, a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight.”
Psalm 103:13:“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.”
Hebrews 12:7:“It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline?”
Colossians 3:21:“Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged.”
But you can utter only one to me and my sister, and we hear you loud and clear: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.”, Psalm 103:13.
AI-Generated Image: A Black father hugging his two daughters, one older and one younger.
Now that I am 45 years old, I wonder, how are your early 60s treating you as you still parent me? You are patient. You are kind. You are a critical thinker who passed these characteristics onto me, and you haven’t flinched in your actions toward my womanhood. I can call you with my worries, but I don’t–not often. I can call you when I am crying, but I don’t–not often. I can call you when someone has broken my heart, but I don’t–not often. But when I do, you offer me your undivided attention and you give me the floor. And with this, I throw every inch of pain at it and watch it dance before me in waves.
And most calmly, every single time, you tell me that if life were easy, I wouldn’t grow. I wouldn’t learn. There would be no lessons for me to share with those coming after me. You let me wail into the receiver, you give my tears the greeting they deserve. And then you remind me of who I am and of the strength coursing through my veins.
You are not going to save me from adulthood. You let me lean into it and feel it as I need to, and then… You love me even harder. And this is what I’ll remember, Daddy. It is why I love you as hard as I do. It is why I know until the last breath I breathe, your heart is mine. And my heart is yours.
For the fathers braving every single day, raising their daughters. For fathers who fall short, yet still pick up the slack. For fathers who give everything they have of themselves to their children without hesitation. For the young ones who manifest greatness, and it seems to wither before their eyes. For every uncle, grandfather, big brother, and caring neighbor who took on more than they should have… I see you, and I love you for your existence.
A Cornered Gurl 
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