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.