PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Thank you very much for: Thank you very much for commenting on this small tale about the smallest member of my family, yet one who is so big-hearted.  Yes, she was traumatized and never ventured up there again.  When we first rescued Zoey, she could not climb up the three front porch steps at the residence in which we were then living.  By the time we brought my mother to live with us, in the larger house, she could almost leap up the steps to the bookroom, and, on the afternoon of the sighting, she came down those steps with equal speed.      Zoey also had a way of diagnosing us when we are facing an illness.  She would approach whichever one of us was sick, and just sit and stare into our eyes, as if she was obsessing over something.  Within twenty-four hours or less, whichever one of us was stared at became ill.  She has a fairly accurate record with that, until recently.  Now she is lame and tired all the time, and sleeps most of the day and night.       When I was thirteen, my parents bought me a very pedigreed cocker spaniel pup, jet black, whom I named Monica, and with whom I bonded immediately.  She could read all of my moods.  Twelve years later, she developed a stomach cancer, and the vet wanted to put her down.  I asked him how long she might have to live, and he said a matter of three or four months.  I asked him if she was in pain, and he said no, and even demonstrated by pressing her abdomen and she did not respond.  He said it would eventually become too painful for her to stretch out on the flloor.  I told him if he thought she had three or four months, we would give it to her and bring her in only upon the very first indication of pain.  That was in the summer of 1983; Monica lived until late May of 1986.  She had stretched out that May morning and began to whimper, so, while I was at work, my father took her to the vet.  I never thought I would ever meet another dog as empathetic as Monica was, until I met Zoey.