Thursday, March 22, 2018

it happened this way. it can't unhappen. it may not end this way. we don't decide our fate. this will happen though, as it has happened. this can't be taken away.
he was a man of one story; he had his cellar in his attic.

gaston bachelard,
the poetics of space.
the logic of it escapes me, rather it offends me. after years of being a caregiver and companion to mister i'm informed that while i will still be his caregiver, full time, i will no longer be considered in the financial picture. not only will i not get the funds for walking, i will have full responsibility while not considered part of his care. after years of being another's dog he will be my dog for his last years, but still another's dog in terms of all the care aside from me.
i started writing this note after a discussion of mister's care in the event of death. 
i think i must bow out as mister's legal guardian. i can't imagine being parted from him ever, but i already feel ensnared by the thankless financial web. he will be getting older and need more care, and i won't be receiving the funds for what we have done all along, so will have to go out and find another dog to make up for the lost funds. the reason i gave my last dog to someone in canada was lack of wherewithal and a disordered life-style, rather like wendy, in wendy and lucy. it broke my heart. 
now it's a hell of a thing, i can't afford a dog. i have to be with dogs, and i have to live, so i take care of other's dogs. yet when i love a dog the dog is not legally mine, though my heart feels like it is the dog. i love the dog not as someone's dog, or my dog, but as the dog, the very dog the dog is.
while i wrote this mister followed directly behind me, stepping in my footsteps, like a procession. i looked back and his head was lowering. it seemed sure he knew what i was thinking and writing. he always knows it's about him. right now he's staring up at me. i pause and rub his face. he gives me his paw. 
so then i take him home and say i don't think i can swing it without care-giving funds. my heart will drop like a bird, flop like a dog in ultimate grief. 
suddenly he would be my dog after all these years. we could continue to the end. he could die in my arms. 
this morning walk i thought, wow- it took me a while to get this part- but i feel disrespected, dismissed, though still expected to be the caretaker. there will be money for his care, but not for my care, nor my care of him.
i wrote another note, and i can only write, and in the disordered way, here. i can't speak. i wrote before the walk, while feeding mister,
you act like it's unreasonable for me to require money to care for your dog when i have always required money, that's care in human terms, while he has required care, that's love and time, in dog terms. you say he will be my dog now, yet every aspect of his care is covered except for me. he will be your dog after, except for me.  
what will make the difference, now and then, 
money now, none then. 
on the walk i wrote,
after nine years, thereabouts, (i have a variable sense of duration), of taking care of your dog, suddenly, in theory, he would be mine for his remaining time, yet you would still of course pay for the care of your dog, excluding me. i will no longer be considered part of his care financially, only legally. 
finally i can't imagine us not being together. it will happen anyway. i'll feel the loss, but just now i feel the offense. it offends my sense of things, of integrity, of commitment, and care.

if you have stayed this far and are simply bored, i am sorry, i think i'm just thinking it through. it's probably not even how i see it. i have to trust that we will be together as long as we are supposed to be. 


Wednesday, March 21, 2018

the dogs are distracted, eating all kinds of things. comet drifting toward hilde-land in his goatish habit. i try to engage them but i have to drag hilde away from morsels i can't even detect with my naked eye. 
i note riding past the playground how the sound is aggressive, not just exuberant or joyous, maybe i'm an old crotchety coot, i suppose it's the sound of humans, same as ever, and it probably sounded violent when i was one of the kids, not being one of the kids. it's probably no different now. though there were only words and slaps and punches then. actually i think it is a lot worse now. people were always violent but the constant frenetic disconnection is at an all time high. there's little pockets of gentleness, like the little green spaces that the animals have to reach to get a little peace to eat and rest and live. there isn't much that connects now. just islands in a land of greed and waste.

sorry fill-in flash, for copping attitude about the dogblog. i know i'm jaded on humans, but it's the pits copping attitude about one's public journal. i mean why would you look? but you ask if i looked at yours, and i can say, aha! i did! and you know i ain't lyin'. anyway sorry, i know copping an attitude is a bummer, and i is sorry i said what i said if you are reading this and truly i am sorry anyway even if you're not.
oh, and, happy vernal equinox, mister.
there are hard things and there is erosion, there's dust softening the edges, and mist from crushing waves. there are things that happened once and things that happened and continue happening.

 there's so many things to think of that i don't think of i don't even know what they are.
 entropy and enzymes

at the point we approach the infinite.