PRECOGNITION OF MY DOGGONE BEING
I count my dearly departed mother (the late AKA purebred Harriet Kuritsky) as the greatest underdog who ever roamed this earth.
She earned her stars and stripes (on each of each faux paus) and howling bark a rolls when said mistress of doggerel doggedly padded down the runt way head held high and tail happily wagging.
Time and again, thy priestess pooch coveted and thence garnered prestigious golden bone award emblazoned with the highest praise held for a bitch in heat in all the millennial annals of dogdom, and without whose bona fido love kept me from a paw city of self worth and a potential tailspin into gloom.
This upcoming May (two thousand and nine) marks the fourth anniversary whence this canine succumbed to the jawboning gimlet eyed grim reaper, where said queen of the “man’s and woman’s best friend” lies in a state of eternal bliss.
Let me interrupt the tail to incorporate an ode (which pee on), she would find flattering.
REMBRANCE of HARRIET HARRIS – VERSE ONE:
Christened as averred one Harriet Kuritsky on November 13th nineteen thirty five the youngest of four with only one brother whose exit from this world from a terminal illness she did not survive.
The following emotions communicating heartfelt grief practically vanquished as like my existence turned a new leaf. A recurring abysmal grief stricken state still consumes my entire being of late these perpetual tears of sadness seem not to a-bate since the grim reaper brandished scythe signature sign of a deadlocked fate.
Twas about 11:00 a.m. 2005 that third of May that our dearly beloved mother fought tooth and nail to keep death at Biscuit bay (as recounted by eldest and youngest sisters who elected to remain on vigil that day) nonetheless rigor mortis upper hand brought a (supposed) painless and swift death to her diseased and emaciated riddled body gone lifeless and ashen gray.
This only heir still misses his mom more than plaintive words can spell with his agonizingly pained heart and soul that rents asunder this psyche pell-mell no amount of weeping can quiet and quell.
Cathartic for me to give you a posthumous ode conveyed in an easy to read poetic code to help accept finality and permanent loss now only retrievable from nostalgic memories identified as that childhood home and favorite abode.
VERSE TWO:
Her cremated ashes still remain sealed in the same nondescript box
white, powdery and chalk like material
devoid of any vestigial semblance to her
once living and vibrant self that unique persona
pulverized and vaporized
(housed former svelte and tall Arthur Murray
ball-room dance teacher
a half century plus prior to demise
which beauty, charm and grace quickly caught
the attention of my father who courted
and eventually proposed to this young flirt and tease of a gal)
inert organic matter now represents sole residual embodiment
reduced to dust and near nothingness
former corporeal being of blood, bone and flesh
weighing no more than a dozen hatch marks on the scale
her absence still bears down heavy
like some millstone round the neck
per the black hole sun less void created by defeat
with Grim Reaper toward this woman
who helped birth and nurse me into manhood
momma’s only grown son still feels
ripples of grievous sadness no matter the years
of suppressed anger and rage in addition
to emotional conflicts between us
which invariably wrought unpleasant relationship
and a legacy of discord writ large
across the tapestry of my life.
Force fields from this lithe Brooklyn native
shone bright (whose pronunciation
a dead ringer giveaway to any amateur and junior linguist)
lives in the guise of aural spectra
especially within the hallowed sanctity
of Glen Elm domicile and continues
to emit indomitable and unfading
rays of pure energy and light.
Now, even nearly twelve plus years after her passing
from the temporal plain, no other dog
approached being held with as much esteem
in the petmart a file domain.
Upon the yearly anniversary whence persona
and dogma left me mama, the United States Beagle Corps
played Rover Lee (reveille for the novitiate)
tapped out with salty dog rag like schmaltz.
Oh, she retrieved golden globe trotting awards
while touring with Gladys Knight and the Pups.
No doubt (especially some of you stray alley cats
and junk yard dogs) beg and drool to differ
at such holier than thou Canis Major hoopla.
Please feel free to offer this, that or the other bone to pick.
This (ahem) boxer of sorts feels ready
to duke out any pugnacious mutt.
Specialists (such as the reputable Morris the cat) scooped,
scoured and sniffed out the figurative poop deck
to accumulate a veritable truckload of faded
yet indisputable circumstantial paw prints.
Testimonials left a clear cut territorially marked trail
(to whit and far as this nose can smell), that countless
canine studs boarded the greyhound gravy train to make
the trek for the express purpose to become the lucky underdog
and sire offspring.
The progeny borne forth from such an invaluable
“bitch in heat” would be deemed more precious
and valuable than the most rare gem or jewel
east of Eden or this side of paradise.
Before the advent of insemination and subsequent birth
of one or more puppies, the biological frenzied phenomena
triggered auctioned bids to be placed on this longest domesticated animal.
News of impregnation spread like wildfire.
As the impending due date loomed ever closer,
an immediate hushed lull descended upon
the crowded air of the barely visible esplanade.
Harriet (from the months of earlier precocious poetics
and guided laser precision of mechanical engineer
and soon to be proud papa Boyce) made whimpering sounds
in quick succession with the approach of Labrador day.
Complete dilation and miraculous genesis would be very close at paw.
Although a true-blooded (yet not necessarily young
whipper snapper) trooper, Harriet possessed an amazing
tooth and claw tensile strength.
No matter the presence of that bite the post person
in the calf esprit de corps, a growling rumor circulated
that mine mutter denigrated as some lady and the tramp.
When biology in tandem with mother nature decreed,
she aggressively bore down with ear splitting yelps and wails!
The spasmodic painful contractions forced an impulse
to chump down on the figurative bullet,
and any helping hands that might find themselves
in the zone whence teeth did snap shut like a vice.
An ordinarily gentle and playful creature (who liked
to keep a long leash on life), Harriet licked
one adversity after another, yet that indomitable
will power inevitably got clamped tight from
the invisible steel trap of death.
Before reduced to this grim forecast, the life force
within yielded progeny to carry the gene pool and lineage.
Whenever her facial muscles relaxed every now and again,
the slackened oral tissue revealed a brightly colored strip
of blood red gums.
A trickle then rivulet of foamy saliva dribbled then flowed out.
Nature set the pace and tone whence gestation
would commence and be complete.
Between advent of expectant motherhood, and expulsion
of scrawny sac of new life, a cycle of cleaving, loosening
and moaning (possibly akin to being impaled by a
terrible swift sword) would ordain that vigilance be maintained.
Elimination of that nutrient rich amniotic bag
would signal the finality of labor.
An indistinguishable and amorphous mass of wet fur
exited (or more accurately got expelled) from the womb.
This issuance hardly registered an audible whimper
from one haggard and tired older pup.
That DNA double helix material tapestry and weave
encoded a uniquely embedded behavioral and
chromosomal genetic schematic for eons of predecessors
harkening back to the days when humankind lived
a brutish, nasty and short Hobbesian existence.
In essence, the general salient strengths and traits
that demarcated these particular house hold pets
(that essentially became beloved on a par like another
part of the royal family – with the red carpet treatment
to boot) came into fruition approximately when
the arbitrary arrival of “modern man and of course woman”
usurped control of fire from Prometheus.
Once man and womankind (notice the attempt
at gender inclusion) promulgated the quixotic ability
to kindle a flame at will (which sparked the match
making business), the other beasts of the jungle
and/or savannah united themselves toward
that circle of heat and light.
Now, fast forward millions of years to bring
this wayward writer back on track to resume
his shaggy dog tail.
As always, Harriet aspired to work officially, quickly
and swiftly to maneuver her self in a strategic pose
to nurse and wash her prized progeny.
Despite her deathlike exhaustion, she mustered
every last drop of energy to nuzzle each pup.
She gingerly crimped (with the aid of those knife blade edges
of canine teeth) to grasp hold of the ta loose
hot ala trek pocket of flesh encircling the neck.
Rather than carry this motion out with intent to harm,
the maternal survival of that brood got carefully nestled
adjacent to the milk ducts where they could nurse
and suckle to their delight.