Every Dog


Dear Eugene,

Have you seen a three-leg dog?  I have seen a couple, in real life, six legs I looked at, all common.

Dogs are common.  Missing a leg draws a deeper common doggishness out of them.  Like an aging man sitting at the edge of his sick bed, an a-dime-a-dozen sight.  Seen it once, seen it all.  All gray hair is gray and finally speaks of death.

The bouncing with three legs looks ridiculous.  Sumi just scraped her right front paw again, the second time in a month or so, now bouncing around the same ridiculous way as before.  Two days ago she was the crazy teenager pulling me down the hill (never up, that would be my service to her); now there is no energy gained or lost in our genteel tug-of-war.  The leash languished in a lethargic balance of power, diplomacy exhausted between the willing and the disabled.

Seems like I've always been
Looking for some other place
To get it together
Where with a few of my friends
I could give up the race
And maybe find something better
But all my fine dreams
Well though out schemes
To gain the motherland
Have all eventually come down
To waiting for Everyman

I pray she will never miss a leg for real.  I will tease her to no end, my idea of self-deprecating humor.

Yours, Alex

Comments

  1. UnknownSeptember 16, 2018 at 5:47 AM

    Dear Eugene,

    “But all my fine dreams
    Well thought out schemes
    To gain the motherland
    Have all eventually come down…”

    Legs take us to places & people. They wander about, among other legs. Tread on no through roads, past shadows & stories, exit downhill to the abyss of sea monsters.

    In varicose veins my legs are marked, rampant & tortuous, tattoos of death in purple.

    I have seen many, in real life, 3-legged people I looked at, all common. This past month, in my waking hours halved, my legs weaved in & out of halls & rooms, crossing by single or dual sets of 3 legs mismatched: an ailing elderly with a portable IV pole, an amputee in wheelchair hauled by an aide on ramp, gurney of blood & paramedic to the ED. All emaciated, doggedly unified, a dime-a-dozen sight of doggishness.

    One Saturday in September, when my legs were about 6 years younger, I took my daughter in her 2-legged bouncing spree to a local science museum. I had worked all week for weeks on end. It was a Saturday planned for our bouncing legs. Within 30 min of our visit, my flip phone on silent vibration bounced in my pocket. A work call. Needed an extra pair of legs to cover a missing shift. My legs raced away to fit into the empty role, closed the gap in operations, climbed uphill like a warrior parent, punched a hole in my kid’s heart.

    For years, these legs of mine have been thrashing about like a mad 3-legged dog, “now bouncing around the same ridiculous way as before”.

    Graves await to engulf, legs & all. “...My idea of self-deprecating humor.”

    Yours, Kate

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