Category: pets

Max

Photo by Monica McHenney

Max hopes that Kohnan might come back to live with us. He checks for him sometimes. He stands in front of Kohnan’s bed and sniffs the air. Kohnan’s toy hedgehog still smells like our little black friend. Sometimes, Max seems quite puzzled. Everything is the same; but Kohnan is missing.

Max comforts us by licking our feet in the morning while we eat breakfast. Perhaps it’s because the warm weather has made our skin salty. But I remember that for months after Max moved in, he licked our feet and our knees. This is the way dogs say, “It’s okay.”

Hedgehog, Harlequin, Hummus

Photo by Davide Rotondi on Pexels.com

The falafel place got hopping around seven. All sorts would come. Teens in balaclavas and tweens blasting K-pop. Some had coffees, particularly the matrons who clustered in little groups and read the menu.

At the end of the line, the harlequin stood in a multicolored silk suit, a hedgehog perched on his shoulder. 

“Is it all prickly?” A child, barely twelve, looked up at the painted face of the man and the sweet animal on his shoulder. 

“Not really.” Harlequin cupped it in his hands.

“Can I hold it?”

The hedgehog was amenable. It sniffed.

“I think it smells hummus.”

Ode to Kohnan

Photo by Monica McHenney
His eyes were open and stayed that way
Aware and dignified, right up to the end.
A mensch, reserved, not prone to delay, 
Loyal to a fault, on that you can depend.

Saucy he was in the final hours,
Demanded kibble, a last meal at midnight.
Poured out love, licks, and reassurance.

Despite his weak body, his power
Did prolong the end, enough so that we might
Say woof, shed our tears, take one last dance.

He knew it was the end. We, quite sure, thought that he would rally.
He lay quiet, dignified, a friend and most trusted ally.



A Quiet Morning

Photo by Kevin Menajang on Pexels.com
Exiled to the backyard,
While inside the termite inspector inspects,
Kohnan limps to the door,
Pleads with liquid brown eyes.
He doesn’t bark; has no energy for that these days.

“He’s friendly.” 
The inspector nods. Kohnan sidles in quietly.
He’s drawn blood.
He can be protective, even with friends.
Not now. Mornings he wakes up slowly in a fog of old age.

He’s at my feet, 
Moving his head to the sound of steps in the attic.
The sun falls in patterns, 
Warms my legs, his arthritic hips.
Warmth is welcome to us both, we’re grateful spring is coming fast.

The Perfect Pet Cow

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Ellie groped for a pitcher to hold her morning milk. The pitcher felt warm. It moved and mooed when she touched it. It had the same fresh smell of country lanes that had attracted Ellie’s attention as she browsed the housewares aisle of the local thrift store. The pitcher had been only five dollars. She thought she might be asleep.

Overnight, the pitcher became a cow. She fed it salad and built a small platform with a hole in the center for the cow to stand on. She placed her tea cup under the center hole and squirted in milk.

Can Dreams Be True?

Photo by Lucas Andrade on Pexels.com

The dog died under a fallen fence in a thunder storm. Marley suspected that Ginger hadn’t been ready to go. Sure enough, they met up in Marley’s dreams. Often, Ginger had advice. It was like old times, minus the vet bills, though it was odd to hear Ginger talking. 

Their discussions got uncomfortable when Marley started dating a colleague. Ginger had strong opinions about clandestine office romances. 

Marley reminded Ginger that she herself had been guilty of digging under the fence to meet a handsome Doberman. 

Ginger wept big doggie tears. “If I hadn’t been digging, I’d still be alive.”