Small Conceits

Musings. Stories. Poems.


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Sachi’s Last Goodbyes

Sachi, my first Golden and Coyote’s sister, had been ill, off and on, for nearly six months when her last emergency room visit finally produced the diagnosis that had evaded us: cancer. And it was untreatable. My entire world went dark. I went to the veterinary hospital, where she’d been kept for testing, to bring her home to die. So great was my anguish and worry about the possibility that she was suffering that I began frantically calling veterinarians to see if someone could come that night to put her down. Fortunately, no one was able to come, as it gave me the opportunity to invite the people who knew and loved her to the house to say goodbye to her. It was too much for me to process and impossible for me to form the right words for such a pronouncement, so I let my sweet little girl tell my Facebook friends how it was with her.

Sachi: “Mom, why are all the people visiting us sad tonight?”

Me: “Well, Sachi, it’s time for you to go, sweetheart.”

Sachi: “On a walk?”

Me: “Well…”

Sachi: “Or a car ride? I like car rides.”

Me: “It’s kind of a like a car ride. It’s a journey, baby. A new kind of adventure.”

Sachi: “Are you coming, too? I like it when we go places together.”

Me: “Oh, puppy-girl… No, I’m not coming this time.”

Sachi: “You aren’t going to be there? What about Coyote?”

Me: “No, Sachi, you’re going to have to do this one alone. But we’ll be right there to send you off, baby. We won’t leave you until we’re sure you’re safely on your way.”

Sachi: “I’ll be sad. I’ll miss you.”

Me: “We’ll miss you, too, baby girl. Believe me. We’ll miss you every single day.”

Sachi: “Mom?”

Me: “Yes, Sachi?”

Sachi: “Am I a good girl?”

Me: “Yes, sweetness. Yes, my soul. You are a good girl. The sweetest, funniest, most beautiful girl. You are my light.”

Sachi: “You’re a good girl, too, Mom. Even if you don’t have a tail to wag.”

Me: “Thanks, baby. That means a lot.”

Sachi: “I’m tired, Mom. Are you ok?”

Me: “I’ll be fine, Sachi. Just rest here, and I’ll hold onto you for a little while. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Sachi: “Thanks, Mom.”

Me: <whispering> “No, Sachi. Thank you. For everything you are and have been.”

My Sachi as a puppy, 10 mos


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John stops us on our walk to ask after Coyote. We pause, and I fill him in on her slow, drawn-out deterioration.

“They’re a super-breed,” he says, pointing at Coyote with his chin.

Blinking, “I’m sorry…what?”

“Huskies,” he tells me. “I did a little research, and they metabolize food differently, so they can go longer on less.”

And it hits me, full-force in the chest: Huskies are the closest that domestic dogs come to wolves. They’ve retained many of the wolf characteristics throughout their journey from fire pit to fire place. One of those characteristics is a kind of “famine mode” for absorbing nutrients from their food.

I gaze down at my sweet girl, trembling with weakness where she stands, as John continues elaborating on how the husky’s loping run conserves energy; how their fur insulates them from heat and cold… I can only make sense of scattered words because my mind is jangling with one simple, cruel fact:

My god, her genetics are prolonging her death.


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August

I’ve watered
and staked
and pruned
and pulled
and mulched

and still
I can’t stop
the relentless spread
of August

flowers under hot sun


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Friends of the owners of the B&B/winery I was staying at stopped by to taste some wine & pick up their summer bottles. Teddy, a big, jovial guy, was talking about the Roman aqueducts he and his wife visited some years back — those marvels of human engineering:

Teddy: “They had to calculate it all just right — the grade, the flow, everything — from 200 miles away!”

<brief pause>

Teddy: “And they didn’t even have ZERO back then!”

<I pinch my nose shut to prevent a lovely cabernet sauvignon from squirting out of it. Because, although correct, that was damned funny.>

#nerdtopia


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THE CHIPMUNK LETTERS, The “Coyote Incident”

Chipmunk: “Hey. How’s it going?”

Coyote: <staring distractedly at the house> “Huh? Oh…ok, I guess.”

Chipmunk: “What’re you doing out here?”

Coyote: “Not sure. Mom was reading something, then she started tearing the paper up with her teeth, spitting it on the floor, and jumping up and down on it.”

Chipmunk: “Huh. Sounds pretty serious.”

Coyote: “I know! I was a little worried about her, so I suggested she curb her caffeine intake. And now I’m out here.”

Chipmunk: “Hmmm. That’s strange…” <dramatic pause> “You know, I always find that nibbling a strawberry helps me when I’m confused. Here, try one.” <holds out paw with a strawberry in it> “But only take one bite. The first bite is the best. Then we’ll get you another one. There’s plenty to go around.”

Coyote: “Yeah, there are a lot of them–” <shaking her head to clear it> “Hey…wait a minute…” <squints her eyes at the chipmunk, then smiles an evil smile> “Say, buddy, isn’t that a hawk shadow gliding in this direction?”

Chipmunk: “Hoooo! Lookit the time! Gotta run.” <disappears down a hole>

Coyote: “Stupid rodents.”


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THE CHIPMUNK LETTERS, Volley 3

Dear Human:

A shoebox, a stick, and some birdseed? How stupid do you think we are? Even peanut butter wouldn’t lure us into such an infantile trap.

Regardless, this openly hostile act is not without consequences. Consider yourself warned.

— The Chipmunks

——

Dear Chipmunks:

OK, so I need to raise the bar a little. I went shoe shopping yesterday, so I had the boxes on hand and figured I’d give it a try. How stupid do I think you are? You’re RODENTS, fer pete’s sake!

Consider the shoebox thing a warning shot. You will cease and desist with the strawberry nibbling, or I’ll have to kick it up a notch and bring out the big guns.

Besides, what are you going to do to me? Nibble my toes off?

— The Human

——

Dear Human:

Your threats are a declaration of war! Prepare yourself!

We will now begin taking bites out of even the green strawberries. None will ripen! None will be edible! This. Is. WAR!!!!!!

— The Chipmunks

——

Dear Mangy Vermin:

If you even LOOK like you’re eating the green strawberries, I’LL COME DOWN ON YOU LIKE A HAMMER! I’LL BLAST YOUR LITTLE STRIPY HIDES BACK INTO LAST WEEK!

I’LL TEAR YOUR LITTLE LIMBS FROM YOUR BODIES AND USE THEM AS TOOTHPICKS!

You WILL NOT destroy my strawberry crop! You will be BURIED!!!!!

— The Superior Species

——

Dear Human:

Have you considered trying decaf?

— The Chipmunks


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THE CHIPMUNK LETTERS, Volley 2

Dear Chipmunks:

I see you persist in your one-bite approach to eating my strawberries. If this doesn’t change, I might have to take action.

Re: strawberry ownership – These plants were started from six plants given to me by my father, who brought them here from Pennsylvania. I planted them, cared for them, and helped them spread and grow. You are simply consumers. You can’t lay claim to them. They are mine.

— The Human

P.S. That bird-shaped shadow that casts itself over the strawberry patch on many late mornings is not a hawk. Nothing to fear there.

P.P.S. Even if it were a hawk, they pose no threat to chipmunks. Feel free to dance around in the strawberries, even when you see that shadow. In fact, bring your family and friends out to play! They’ll appreciate the shade on warm days.

——

Dear Human:

We have burrowed and tunneled under the strawberries. We have only to reach out and pluck one, whereas you have to leave your above-ground den and walk over here to enjoy them. We re-assert our claim to ownership, since possession is 9/10s of the law, and we are certainly much more in possession of them than you are. We will, therefore, continue to eat them whenever we please.

Besides, we fail to see why this is such an issue. In a week or so you won’t even be able to keep up with picking, cleaning, and hulling them. You can’t possibly eat all of these berries! Human greed is a terrible thing. Give it up! Come over from the dark side and see things the Chipmunk way.

Re: the hawk – We’ve heard that one before. And we’d know better anyway. There’s this little thing called “genetic memory.” Which you’d be more familiar with if your species hadn’t gotten all Cartesian with that “I think; therefore, I am” stuff.

— The Chipmunks

——

Dear Chipmunks:

Descartes was a fool.

And your mother has a squirrel tail.

— The Human

—–

Dear Human:

“Yo mama” jabs? Really?! Why don’t you go and “evolve” some more? Obviously, standing up on two legs isn’t quite far enough.

— The Chipmunks


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THE CHIPMUNK LETTERS, Volley 1

Two summers ago, I had what could only be described as a chipmunk infestation. At strawberry time. IN the strawberries. %@&$!!!

Dear Chipmunks:

If you are going to take bites out of my strawberries, please eat the whole berry before biting into the next one. While I realize there are many strawberries out there, if you nibble a bit more consciously and judiciously, there will be more to go around. I am not opposed to sharing. I do not, however, like waste.

— The Human

——

Dear Human:

What do you mean *your* strawberries? You live over there, in that weird, hard-sided, above-ground nest. We live directly below the strawberries in nice, normal, underground nests. Therefore, the strawberries are ours.

We ARE opposed to sharing, as we have many mouths to feed, and you have only one big one, unless the white wolf-beast eats strawberries, too. (It wouldn’t surprise us that creatures who cohabitate with you mutate and adopt strange habits.) So, kindly keep your nasty naked paws out of our strawberries.

— The Chipmunks

——

(It’s ON, people! Arrogant little rodents!)


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Dead Smells

(Overheard in the living room:)

Coyote: “OK, so help me understand. You find that nasty half-a-dead-squirrel in the yard and try to bring it inside, and I have to suffer through getting my teeth brushed.”My dog, Sachi, chewing an antler

Sachi: “Squirrels are yummy!”

Coyote: “It was barely a strip of leather with a tail attached! Why’d you even bother to pick it up?”

Sachi: “Squirrels are especially yummy when they get ripe for a few days!”

Coyote: “You’re hopeless! Next time, swallow it whole before Mom sees you! I don’t like the toothbrush. Makes my fangs feel weird.”

Sachi: <continuing, lost in her own thoughts> “Ripe squirrels smell delicious. When I find them, I just want to roll in them.”

Coyote: “Well it’d be better than eatin-… Wait. ROLL in it?!”

Sachi: <quivering in ecstasy at the thought> “Dead smells all over my body…”

Coyote: “Are you NUTS?! She’ll give us both BATHS!”

Sachi: <sighing happily, oblivious> “Mmmmm. Dead smells…”

Coyote: “You’re just…wrong.”


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Yesterday at Luna Music:

I close my eyes, open my arms wide, and smile, breathing in the old-building smells, the platistic-y must of album covers and CDs, and — best of all — the sounds of young men, music enthusiasts, chatting excitedly near the register.

I open my eyes to find my sister, head cocked quizzically, smiling at me.

“What?” she asks.

“I spent a good part of my late 20s and early 30s in places like these,” I tell her quietly, lowering my arms. My smile remains but changes shape a little.

I watch her connect the dots.

“Sometimes I forget to heal things,” I tell her.

And she puts her arms around me and pulls me close, helping me to begin yet again.