PRECOGNITION OF MY CANIS 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 eighteen) marks the thirteenth 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 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 tailored 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
(quite a while back, thee papa honored the wish for scatter the talc like human powder at her favorite local trail).
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
absence still bears down heavy
like some millstone round the neck
per the black hole void created
by defeat with Grim Reaper
toward this woman who helped
birth and nurse me into dog gone 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 four years after her passing from the temporal plain, no other dog approached being held with as much esteem in the pet a file domain. Upon the yearly anniversary whence persona and dogma left me mama, the United States Beagle Corps play 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 matchmaking 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 loose 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.
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