Tag Archives: dogs

be safe & don’t forget to cuddle! Stella wisdom

Molly Elizabeth Onyx (2002 – 2017)


I’m sitting here alone in the rain.

Last time I was here, you were with me

the snow had caught the tall green pines

sun glowed their bark red and honey gold


the wind to our faces occasioned by loose flakes of December snow

and we not really minding, picked up our pace

for not other reason than the sheer joy of being able to do so.


today I’m just soaked through

feeling the rain, neither warm nor cold

simply a fact .


maybe when I get up I’ll go the way we used to go

one more time for old times sake

before choosing another way

that only I can take.






If I needed you
Would you come to me
Would you come to me
For to ease my pain
If you needed me
I would come to you
I would swim the seas
For to ease your pain
Oh the night’s forlorn
And the morning’s born
And the morning shines
With the lights of love
You will miss sunrise
If you close your eyes
And that would break
My heart in two ….
from If I Needed You by:Townes Van Zandt

 Chose Emmy’s version. I have both hers and Townes on CD in the car. From Townes I heard the words. From Emmy’s I had to stop the car and cry.

Our molly missed her last sunrise and it surely broke my heart. At about 630 I found her lying on the kitchen floor near her pillows.

I figure she had tried for one more. See I get up to make the coffee then and at that time molly goes out for a pee. She had taught me that if I left the door open so that she could come right back in to her bed, she’d go out with no fuss. These winter days the sun doesn’t rise around here until about 730.


She was the oldest dog I ever knew. Deaf as a post she had learned sign language with the help of her favourite treats. Raise my hand over head and drop it down to my side and she would come. Trouble was I’d have to wait for her to look back for me, so she’d see the sign. (always brought my dogs where I could let them run free)


She also came to learn the come here now sign and the just messing with you sign when shed turn right around and run back ahead. We ‘d do the walk we used to do with Mara. Molly had learned all the tricks Mara taught her, like how to slip through the gates, so you didn’t have to wait for the old man, places where there’d be pools of water even in high summer and to wait at the end of the trail to get the lead put on because – ” ladies don’t go naked through the streets.”



Dog Story, by pd lyons

Maybe the boy is six years old when his father takes him. They walk behind the houses through a maze of added on structures. They stop at one. His father opens one of the splintered doors part way and slips in. ” Stay by the door,” his father tells him, ” don’t let it close.” Then his father goes all the way into the dark. He can hear the footsteps of his father. Then there are other sounds, other things moving in there. He can make out the shape of his father. See him bend down and reach into a cornered mass of moving whimpering things. Now there is another sound, a rising yelp and yap. Dogs. His father keeps dogs in the shed.

His father backs into the daylight, hauling with both hands the lead and then the dog. The dog is black with golden tan on its underside. Its long black tail curls down between its legs up along its belly. Its low diamond shaped head moves side to side like a great snake .

They walk. His father’s boots crunch the hard ground. The dog skids, pulled against its own trembling legs. The boy’s soft small steps follow. Around the corner, against the far wall his father leads them.

The boy watches. His father attaches the lead from the dog to a cable. The cable runs up a series of supports to the top of the wall, and then angles back down the same wall to the ground. There is an almost echo snap as his father secures the end of the lead to the cable and walks away. The dog whines and tries to follow, but the cable pulls up short. There are more dog sounds as it turns, tries another direction, comes up short again. Suddenly the dog stiffens. Its head begins to rise. Its front legs come off the ground. At last it shows some canine aggression. It snaps and snarls wildly. Tries to turn in such a way so as to tear its attacker apart. But the dogs attacker is a thin braided cable steadily tightening. It gets harder and harder for the dog to do anything. Finally his father anchors the cable.
On its tiptoes, the dog stretches taller than the boy now. Quickly his father returns to the dog, stretches out his arm, jabs at that golden inner thigh. The dog makes sounds like screaming. It takes a few seconds for the boy to notice. There is blood on the dog’s leg. It pulses from the place his father touched. His father goes and slackens the cable. Lowers the dog back to the ground. The dog at first a frenzy of licking and yelping gives way to a slow motion pitter patter of paws. Eventually, it curls itself up on the hard wet ground and moans.

He no longer hears these things. He does not remember how old he really was that first time, that moment when at the point of happiness he realised, “This dog is no gift to me from my father.” He does remember how to treat them so they stay afraid, how to clean them and how to strike the artery deep enough but keep the hole small. He does not remember if it was his ninth or tenth birthday when his father first handed him the blade.

He is walking down the street. Notices a group of strangers. Someone he knows is with them and calls out, saying “Come, join us.”The strangers speak a language he does not know. They are two men and a young child. The child is wearing a brilliant pink fur coat. Someone he knows explains, ” These are the buyers of skins. This child, the daughter of one of them. They want you to know about this child’s coat. That it is made from your skins.” Not sure if he understood this last part he asks if this is so. “Yes. Yes. This little girl’s coat is made of skins from you.” He looks again at the child. He squats down before her, extends his hand and stops. He looks up to them and from one of the men receives a silent nod of permission. He reaches out to her, she is not afraid of him. He touches her coat, pinches it, rolls it back and forth between his thumb and fore finger. He opens his hands. Runs his palms along her shoulders and down the sleeves. “ It is a wonderful coat. An amazing colour. A lovely gift for a child. But,” shaking his head he stands up. “No.” he says and shakes his head again, “ Tell them no. I have never dogs the colour of this.”

He does not remember the names of those buyers or why they laugh when he tells them the truth. He does remember the little girl. The look of her at him squatting there as if they shared some secret then. As if he had told her how he could no longer see the face of his father, or hear the voice of his mother, even though he had promised never to forget.

Three Greys from Ravens



Three Greys

On the floor

Looking up


Shapes of blue

edge into disappeared.

Where the world ends

Does sky begin?

Faucet chromed

Pitted bright ‘n dark

Bumpy capitol C

Marks an asterisk tap


Brown sputter brown

Pop pop popping

Until clear n smooth

Soft morning

Bird song people

I cannot see walk

Hearing their voices

Dogs bark


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