PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Indeed! The exchange of: Indeed! The exchange of thought and sentiment kind of falls flat when attempting a conversation with a veritable "dead poet."

Thank you most kindly, dear: Thank you most kindly, dear poet. To practise observation excercises awareness which in turn increases our scope of which a lifelong goal of growth is set. It's a slow, long process. Your validation brings gladness of heart.

well thought out and written.: well thought out and written. a lovely read

Your poems, even in brevity,: Your poems, even in brevity, are always highly observant.

Resounding gratitude! Your: Resounding gratitude! Your comment is worth a volume of words. Thank you! 

Thank you for that, and for: Thank you for that, and for the mention of Monica.  When she was euthanized, I received the news at work from my retired parents with whom Monica still lived.  My emotions went into a shock, and I was like a zombie.  A couple of weeks later, while out for a walk with my then spoiuse, I burst into tears, uncontrollable tears.  My parents were so broken up by it that they eventually purchased another Cocker pup, who outlived my dad, yet passed away from cancer just prior to my mom.  The dog's ashes were placed into my mother's casket before the lid was closed and locked.  When Zoey's time comes, her ashes will be placed with whichever of us is the last survivor. I thank you, also, for your compliment about the cosmic aspect of our pets' love. Forgive me for closing with one more story about Monica.  In spring, 1983, I had been promoted to Senior Assistant Manager of my branch of the financial corporation that, then, employed me.  I was a little arrogant about my new position.  Then I was notified, by the vet that had known me all my life, that Monica had developed a tumor, biopsied as cancer, in her stomach.  It could be felt by palpatation, but did not seem to cause her any pain.  Her appetite and "athletic" ability when bouncing about my parents' backyard were not affected.  The vet suggested euthanasia.  I pointed out to him that the absence of pain, no loss of appetite, and no loss of energy seemed to me to be reasons to avoid that decision for the time being.  He said she would not last six months, and she would either feel huge pain, or begin to waste away.  I told him, then when these symptoms present, we can proceed to the next step.  That was in June of 1983.  Monica lived until May, of 1986, with no loss of appetite, and only a slight slow-down (after all, she had turned fourteen in January 1986).  On the fateful morning, she tried to stretch out on the patio, on her stomach, and let out a yelp of pain.  My father knew that the time had come.  Monica was buried in a common grave in a pet cemetery, but its management sent me a written statement that her remains had been covered in a blanket and gently placed in the grave, not tossed in, and the grave was then closed.  The vet would have taken her last three years away, had I not objected.  But in the face of all that she had given me, through those fourteen years of her life, what I gave her in 1983 was but a small fraction.  I have never stopped loving her.  I believe that she, and Zoey, will be together in Heaven; and that, when my time comes, I will meet them there as if we had never parted.

I defer to Patricia's far: I defer to Patricia's far more insightful understanding of the purpose of the poem.