Across the Rainbow Bridge

05 Apr 2017 Leave a comment

by Quietude's Junction in journal, pets Tags: , , , , , , , ,

On Monday I had to put my dog to sleep. He was a wonderful, old lab mix that the vets never could agree about. Some said he was part mastiff, others part Dane, but all agreed that it was part BIG. He was a sweetheart, a lover, a comforter, and a protector. He was there when we needed him every time, there to scare off anyone from coming inside that he didn’t personally agree with. He took care of us.

When we got kittens, he became their guardian. He understood that the babies were his new ones to be his to protect. He let them climb on him. He wagged his tail so they would play with it. They, in turn, treated him as their protector and de facto nanny. He didn’t even chase after the cats when one of them scented his nose.

Buddy was a silent protector who needed to know where everyone was at all points in time. He had to lie down in the best place to see all of the people in his home. So he, in essence, was a road block 99% of the time. After all, it is never easy stepping over a 112 pound dog whenever he blocked a door especially when he would unexpectedly raise his head or try to stand up while you are mid-step.

The decision to let my dog go over the Rainbow Bridge was not made easily. I waited and put it off as long as I could. I just couldn’t let him go until he started whimpering in pain each night. It became difficult for him to walk, to stand, and to remain standing even during his walks. I finally had to accept that his quality of life was not worth the struggle of the day to day. I talked with his vet and she agreed that it was time. We cried. We held onto him and let the tears flow. We hugged him and petted him and it seemed that he understood in the end. The vet came in and he placed his big, blocky head into her hand and looked into her eyes. Acceptance and love were there for all to see.

He died as he came to us, a big lover, protector, and a huge part of my family.

I love and miss you, Buddy. One day we will meet again, across the Rainbow Bridge.

 

Kitten Wars: Ninja Kitty and the Art of Being Picked Up

13 Oct 2014 Leave a comment

by Quietude's Junction in journal, Kitten Wars, reflections Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The cats have decided that they will take turns in claiming which human they will deign to show their affection. I’m guessing it is because I am generally quietly relaxing on the sofa, that I get Miss Sofa Shoulder Cat (Teeny) much more frequently than my son who is a constant motion machine. This frustrates him because he wants to pet Teeny and love all over her, but just won’t slow down enough to do so most days. So he picks her up, a lot, which she absolutely does not like and will loudly voice her opinion about on most days.

Teeny will actually tell him off for quite a while when he picks her up. She has this little purrupt meow that she uses quite extensively in multiple sounds and ranges to convey her extreme dislike of being picked up. But, my son is not one to be discouraged. Every day, he picks her up for 5-10 minutes at least 5 times a day during the week and more over the weekends. I’m guessing that he is wearing her down, slowly. She no longer trots off to parts unknown or to the area behind my shoulders on the couch when she sees him coming. She has even not chewed him out about it a few times. So this is progress. She knows he won’t drop her, at least.

Cleo on the other hand has taken to hunting anything that could possibly move in the house. And, quite frankly, even if it doesn’t move, and she can figure out a way to make it move, she does. This includes but is definitely not exclusive to single pieces of toilet paper, nerf darts, pieces of clothing, toy discs, and anything else that she believes can be hunted.

Recently, my son has been shooting off his nerf disc gun much to Cleo’s delight. He has not figured out that the reason he keeps losing his discs is because the cat hijacks them as soon as she finds them. He will go searching for them immediately after shooting them. Counting them up, he gets annoyed when he can’t find one. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spy Cleo. There is the little tuxedo ninja kitty with a disc in her mouth as she trots off to parts hidden from view to play with and stalk her prey once more.

After she has played with her new toy to her delight, she will come out of hiding and love all over my son. I’m sure that she is thanking him for her new toy, begging him to give her more.

The Rights of a Child

10 Sep 2014 2 Comments

by Quietude's Junction in journal, reflections Tags: , , , , , , ,

At what point does an adolescent lose his individuality, his family, and his being to become one of the masses, the nameless homeless? A student of mine passed last week. Because both of his parents were in jail and no one had been formally assigned guardianship or foster care, he was declared homeless by the nameless government, cremated and ashes sent off to be “taken care of” with no care taken to look to find out if anyone would have been willing to do anything else for him. The students and teachers who loved him were not given the opportunity to have closure.

The funeral home was called repeatedly. They were expecting his body to come their way, but it never showed up. Finally, the coroner was called, but they were too late. My student’s body had already been cremated. No family was contacted because according to them, he was homeless. He had local family, but they were not close. He had friends who would have raised the money. He had teachers who would have footed the bill, but as a whole, no one was contacted because someone in authority declared him homeless.

Today, I’ve been going in and out of outrage, depression, and shock at what just happened to a child. At what point did we as a society declare that it is acceptable to throw away our children, even if it’s only their remains?

The Espresso Trade

27 Aug 2014 Leave a comment

by Quietude's Junction in Short fiction Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This is an entry in WOEGMAN’s TTT challenge. The challenge was to write something in an alternate reality in 1000 words or less. This comes in at 994. I hope you enjoy it.

 

The petals drifted down, coating the pavement with the fragility of spring covering what was left of the evidence. Watching from behind The Times, a grin crept across his granite before he closed up shop and the vid uploaded. Pulling the umbrella down, he packed away his goods and pushed the cart down the path. Another successful experiment filmed in the park.

****************

“Yo boss! Vinny didn’t make checkpoint!” Joe Pettigucci glared at the bridge in Central Park where his muscle should have walked. A chill danced down his neck stiffening his spine. This was the fourth pick up that’d disappeared this week. Soon the boys were gonna take vengeance. It wouldn’t be pretty.

Joe walked the route. He went over Gapstow Bridge by the Pond passing picnics and people just lazing about. The Victorian Gardens were blooming as he continued on around making his way towards East Drive. Vinny would have walked right through here, but there wasn’t even the slightest notion of a man that big along the path.

Making his way to the street, a flurry of pink blossoms circled his legs while the scent of burned coffee wafted around him. As he looked down, a small piece of gold winked up from a small pile of ashes. Kneeling, he picked up the crucifix Mama Leo had given Vinny when he joined The Family.

“Gooch, what’cha got there? Anything Cap’d like to see?” Matt, one of the boys in blue, reached over to take the crucifix, but Joe held fast.

“It’s nothin’, just an old crucifix from Mama. Must’a fallen outta my pocket.” Joe put it away before Matt decided to grab for it.

“Cap’s getting worried, Gooch. Don’t like it when Cap’s upset. Things break.”

“We’ll get it to him. Just give us time.”

“24 hours, Gooch, 24 hours.”

Joe waited until Matt was out of hearing. “Boss, gotta make it happen, fast.”

***************************

It was almost complete. The tests had gone well. So far the formula disintegrated everything except metal. That wasn’t a loss, just annoying. Social media was running with the videos, swearing they were fake which suited him. A few of the more intelligent were trying to figure out where he was filming, but no one had caught on, yet. When he was ready, he’d make his demands. The Big Apple would either recognize his brilliance or disintegrate.

Pushing his cart down the path, he chose his next site carefully, waiting for one of the “boys” to walk by before he raised his umbrella. He nodded, friendly-like to the joggers and walkers alike until he was ready. It was almost time for the next delivery to come through. Looking out beneath his brows, he grinned.

*************************

“I’ve got it, boss. It’s in The Briefcase.” Joe picked up the leather coated metal and Kevlar reinforced case. He wound the band around his wrist securing it before setting his shoulders. The route firmly in his head, he started out.

The first checkpoint was by the bridge where he had to pick up a paper, tuck it beneath his arm. Turning to walk past, Joe watched the old man sit down and lay the paper down, discarding it. Picking it up, Joe nodded to the man, then moved on down the path. The key to the document would be in the help wanted section.

The second checkpoint was under the cherry tree as he turned to East Drive. There he was to pick up a specific edition of “Gentleman’s Quarterly” from the vendor before making his way to the street. A small package was stashed within its pages under the guise of a free sample. Once he crossed that street, he’d be home free.

Off to the left of the path, just barely on the pavement was the vendor. It was old Granite face. He got that name when his face hit the granite one too many times leaving pockmarks, permanently. Some say he was a promising chemist years ago that the boys in blue punished for not creating a coffee substitute fast enough.

Who knew? With coffee being on the critically endangered list, it was against international law to harvest the beans, much less brew a cup of joe. Espresso was out of the picture. Starbuck’s died four years ago when the bean crisis first hit. The boys were twitching from the world-wide shortage, willing to pay big for anyone willing to cross the Colombian border to bring some back. Granted having the beans and knowing how to roast ‘em for the perfect brew were two different things. That’s where The Family came into play.

Joe looked over at the vendor. Granite Face reached behind a pile of magazines to pull one out, put it on the side of the rack. Opening up the drinks case, he pulled out a soda and offered to Joe with what he thought was a smile as he came over. With his wallet in hand, Joe paid the man then took the soda and the copy of “Gentleman’s Quarterly” with him. He folded it up with the newspaper before continuing along the route to the drop-off. Every sense on alert. Walking the walk of beans was risky. Too many unreformed coffee junkies waiting for a chance.

But junkies weren’t the problem this time, it was something else, something sinister that was hitting only The Family, but that would have to wait. The delivery was first or their credibility was gonna suffer. Joe stuck the coke in his pocket for later as he left the park and strode to the waiting car. Getting in, he handed over the paperwork that had directions for the perfect brewing machine plus a free sample of the product. Cap stuck his pinky into the rich brown granules and tasted the dark espresso that only The Family could provide, then nodded his head for Joe to hand over the case. One more happy Cop in the Espresso Trade.