Long Animalsdaughter Poems
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Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
One day my daughter brought home a scraggly looking young cat who had always
lived outside. In her first year, we learned she had given birth to two litters of kittens, most of which died. She’d always had to scrounge for food and had even escaped from the pound, only to find her way back to that place where she’d not been well-treated! When my daughter saw her, it was her kittens that were being given away. But my daughter saw a gentle quality in this mother cat that surpassed the sweetness of the kittens and asked to take the mother, who became known to our family as Callie (for Calico).
Callie grew plump and flourished in our home. She was no nuisance to anybody or anything. She became so pampered that she hated the outdoors and if a door were opened, she would approach the “outside” cautiously, only to come racing back inside the minute we returned from our porch. Callie loved to sit on laps and be petted. The older she got, the louder she even purred. If a visitor came to the house, she would climb to their laps. She was small and so likable that nobody wanted to shoo her away.
When our children left home, she became my one and only baby, curled up by my pillow each night and awakening me with a little pat to my face every morning for her breakfast. Callie lived a long life, nearly 18 years, but has since passed on. Dying of cancer, she clung to life until we saw fit to have her put to sleep. I have since adopted other cats, and my current cat is indeed charming, but I still believe there is not another cat in the world that can compare to our one and only Callie Cat!
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Responded to a scream from the kitchen in our house,
Got there to find daughter imprisoned by a mouse:
On a chair she was hand-to-mouth scared of the rodent.
Creature was just as scared but rather impudent.
Brush-chased him round the kitchen twice;
Figured, “ Gotcha, you representative of mice.”
Then in a corner where he went,
Finally brush-trapped my tiny opponent.
Heard him squeak beneath the brush’s bristles :
In his small voice mixed with whistles.
A note of defiance as he climbed through the brush
Then suddenly out and made a rush
For the curtains hanging on the door.
He disappeared quickly off the floor
Into the folds and was seen no more:
Nothing left for us to search for.
Have to admire these miniature guys -
Facing an enemy a thousand times their size
Brush-armed and protecting a daughter -
Midget escaped, laughing at danger and slaughter.
DEATH OF THE CAT
Cats are all the same?
Zimbo was his name
He was an Asian Mackerel,
That’s his colouring term technical.
About nine years old, everyone’s pet
Went missing for days, daughter began to fret
Older brothers found him cold
On road, by a car he’d been rolled
Just one knock clean on his head
And the poor wee thing was dead
Zimbo was laid in garden by the boys
With weeping daughter adding his toys.
I’d been working away for two years
The States, Moscow, Algiers
Missed the kids and their growing lives
Taking them on walks and drives
Missed their exams, prizes, colds and ‘flu s
What birthday dress to choose, what daily news.
It’s I who should have been there at
The final farewell to the family cat
This one event showed clearly to me
How I’d lost my role in the family.
Just a little creature which had to depart ?
I still feel pain from my heart-dart.