They are never perfect, nor are we.
Those pets you’ve taken home
To share your life with.
But they all have a purpose.
And that makes me grow.
To show love and be loved. Unconditionally.
Dogs. Cats, Birds, oh, my!
We buried our 15+-year-old Nukka.
An English Shepherd from Oregon.
Her name meant Little Sister in Eskimo
Called such by our daughter Liz,
Who was 15 years younger then than now.
I can no longer name all my grade school teachers,
And I may miss a pet’s name or two.
But in recent years, Nukka, Bailey, Tisha, Bear, and McKenzie.
These are the names of our dogs that date back to the mid-90s.
These five are buried here on the homestead.
That may be a reason never to move.
Oh, Sydney… He wandered off one day.
Deaf. Seizures. We never found him, though we searched and searched.
Oh, but the strays, we’ve always had them.
Here they have been cats. Some named. Some not.
Tater is the latest, but Yellow Cat and who can forget Diablo,
Who could not stand being touched,
But we could pet him with a broom, and he loved it.
I can’t forget Lucy or Pixel, my daughter’s cats we kept,
Yes. Our life has had a menagerie of animals we treat like our own.
I’ve been up since the middle of the night.
Chewy, Gunny, Bear, and Byrd.
They’ve been barking. Coyotes are howling.
It’s nearing 5 a.m. I’m about to walk in the still-dark yard.
There’s a grave I need to check on.
Thank you for reading.
Please share with others.
It helps me get my book written!
(Below, you may find other topics similar to this one. Please read on!)