My hands smell like deer. It’s a gamey smell—wilder than horse but tamer than buffalo. I was thinking about deer today after having pulled out last year’s Christmas card, a Hipstamatic shot of a plastic […]
Tag Archives: cleo
flotsam and jett-some
It’s probably normal for people to give their pets nicknames in ways they wouldn’t think to name their friends1—unless they’re the guy making the copies. Marty’s and my first dog, Beowulf King o’ the Geats […]
once more to the attic
For the past couple of years, I’ve been writing what I call the Facebook Poems. I ask, as a status update, for my friends to submit words, and each supplies one until I cut the […]
rest her soul
For a little while yesterday, her body was shaped like a crescent in her bed beside the desk. I would stop my work and look at her and hold completely still and, unblinking, watch for […]
to sleep, perchance to dream
I haven’t slept in six months. If there wasn’t a dog beside my bed, snoring through thickened airways or panting heavily with pain or wandering the hallway, clunking the water bowl with her collar, pacing, […]
the queen of denial, part two
In the summer, we thought it might be time. Cleo was sleeping 23 hours a day, snoring loudly because of a thickening in her throat. She was suffering from arthritis, maybe a disc or other […]
queen of denial
I’m about to lose another pet—my fifth as an adult. Their pictures, two cats and two dogs, sit together on the fireplace mantel; the shot of Cleopatra sits at the other end, waiting to join […]
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