Poetry in motion

May 19th, 2008

One thing my dog showed me.

Plainly speaking, the benchmarks of convalescence are often the movement of bowels. So it was in the first weeks of my dog’s recuperation, as she swayed between long silences of worrisome constipation (She’ll explode!) and the urgent crescendos of an opposite kind (She’ll explode!).

One night, as her whimpers sounded oncoming eruptions, I hoisted her outside again and again. Four times that night. The quiet covered the yard like a blanket. The air was prickly with dew. Molly’s sore hindquarters convulsed, and I looked up at the sky. The moon’s dark lid was half lifted; her glowing eye kept sentry.

Night must be the birthplace, and the moon must be the mother, of patience.


  1. these are the things the pull love out of our bones. what a tender fable. good dog. good master/slave.

    Comment by Terri — May 20, 2008 @ 12:15 am

  2. This post means so much to me, more than your could know. Nighttime, worrisome constipation, the movement of bowels, from whimpers to hysterics, have come to test the outermost limits of my patience on and off for about three years now. Except in my case, I’m not referring to the dog.

    Comment by Jena Strong — May 20, 2008 @ 1:46 am

  3. Being one who works at night I love the image of the moon as the mother of patience. I’ll definitely remember that in the wee hours of the morning.

    Comment by Shalet — May 20, 2008 @ 2:15 am

  4. This is what love is all about, isn’t it?

    Comment by Shelli — May 20, 2008 @ 2:53 am

  5. Because, what else can you do?

    Comment by Mama Zen — May 20, 2008 @ 12:41 pm

  6. I can only imagine the bond that you and Molly have. You are undoubtedly her best friend. Thank goodness she has you.

    Comment by Kristin H. — May 20, 2008 @ 11:10 pm

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