The Dog Ate It–Again

I have been silent here longer than I like. But I’m tired of being Bad News Sue. In brief, I’m sick with whatever it is that everybody else has around here. I assume I’ll feel better after a few more days of misery.

Meanwhile, my husband, who has Alzheimer’s and lives in a nursing home, has been having a hard time, with three trips to the hospital this month. Most of his problems center on an enlarged prostate, a damaged bladder, and what may become a permanent catheter to drain urine. His condition has declined dramatically, and the phone keeps ringing with trouble. So, phooey.

Annie, the dog who thinks she’s a person, is still doing well. When she gets bored, which is often, she plays a game in which she grabs paper off the table or out of my recycle box and makes me chase her for it. I hear her whooshing past my office, then I hear paper rattling, and I know the game is on. The following poem was inspired by this game.

That’s Why I’m Overdrawn

The dog ate my receipt.
I don’t know how much it was.
I saw it dangling from her lips.
I chased round and round a bit,
slipped and banged my knee.
“Give it back!” I cried.
But she just stared at me,
masticating it
like a cow with her cud,
staring at me, as if to say,
“You don’t share your food with me,
so I’ll eat the names and prices.”
And then she swallowed. Gulp.

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