the night calls

and the dog slaps
her paws on my blanket–stirs
up dark energy, and gets
frustrated because she hears
the word, “No!”

as she ages, she becomes
bolder with her antics, and
I am urged to continue
to display patience, but
the deep Southerner in me
wants to shoot fire
from my lips, curse the
momentarily defiant ways,
and send her to her room.

these battles are taking
all of my peace.

First Day of 2023

Jernee Timid, The Little Monster, watching TV. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

The Little Monster had me up and rushing to slip on clothes at 06:34AM. Someone has a tummy ache that led to the runs, which led me to run down 3 flights of stairs to get her outside in time.

As soon as we get back inside and I clean myself up and her, too, she gets in my bed and turns her attention to the TV.

I turned it on for her, and that’s the start of the first day of the new year for us!

And here I was simply thinking I’d sleep in. I guess not! Lol.

Jernee and her bowels had other plans!

Tuesday Night Fright

Pictured Poem created by Tremaine L. Loadholt

the dog is acting weird
I worked until a later
time than normal, and since
the end of the shift, I’ve been
trying to figure out this
different behavior.

I’ve cleaned her ears, rubbed her
belly, gave her kisses & crushed ice,
and she’s still being . . . weird.

every other day, something new
is happening. a senior dog
and her aging status is
frightening me.

it’s only Tuesday.
there’s still the rest of
this week to get through.
will we make it?

aging in the year of dying

Pictured Poem created by Tremaine L. Loadholt

aging in the year of dying

the dog is going blind
to her, as I fade into the
darkness of our hallway, I’m
a blot–an image she isn’t
sure is me

she’s smart–she waits
in the living room where light
lingers and only moves
when she sees me re-emerge
from the belly of
our home

I step back into her view
with a smile on my face
and greet her as If I
haven’t seen her before

I know what it feels like
to see something clearly
again