Time For That Living Will

I love our current dog, Coda. But that picture above is me with the best dog that ever was, that ever will  be. The T-Bone.

According to the canine stir we busted him out of, he was all of seven months old and already twice a recidivist. On his jacket his name was spelled Tea-Bone. Cause enough, I was quick to reckon, to produce a behavioral misdemeanor or two. And he was hand shy. Some ass-hole had swiped at him. But I spied that it hadn’t broken his sprit.

It took but a bit of convincing to get SNZ to approved parole and we rolled out of that k-9 hoosegow to run, within the week, along the big city beach. We both worked at home, and set our own hours, so T-bone et al would sunrise at lake Michigan. We averaged about 300 days a year there. Only Windy City weather severe enough to make national news could keep us away.

And T-Bone was trained to walk off lease in our neighborhood, about a mile from that lake. And making the local rounds I’d ruminate on some idiocy like; (a mass for faith in peer pressure)…a phrase turn I was walking about with some early fall and coming holiday season. Peer…a noun verb… see, be seen similarly,

T-Bone never stop being hand shy. But he had a great, if short life. He got sick at six, was misdiagnosed for months. When he turned seven we learned he had inoperable stomach cancer.

T-Bone’s death broke my heart, and I pondered breaking a veterinary bone or two. On advice from my attorney, that being Snz, I was advised that such action would be seen as more than a misdemeanor.

Time For That Living Will

This simple sample
this wounded turn
a cold up
to nail it warm
a scribble in a
sweater necessary
to report spring’s
in full inverse
lowers my appreciation
a degree or two
each day
as I now view
sequel as

and when bright lights
artificial the coming long

(a mass for faith in peer

I string along with
the blink and the

and tinsel
and toast
and cheer
homes that
hum electric
churning gigawatts
to terminal,
with that heavy static
smell of life support

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