Saturday, September 03, 2005

This week my friend Michael emailed from Pasadena "Tonight I saw, on the television news, the evacuation of flood victims by bus from New Orleans. People could board but not pets; as one of the buses was about to depart, a small dog that had to be left behind pawed pathetically at the door of the bus that his owners were about to leave on. It was not a good thing for me to see. With that, the magnitude of the tragedy struck full-on and my heart broke-- for New Orleans, for her people, and yes, for all the small dogs who had to be left behind. I would die in that wasted city before I would leave my dogs. Life writes the harshest tragedies."

I cannot bear to witness the anguish and suffering of the people of New Orleans much longer; my friend Grace stood in my doorway this week talking about the little boy on the news who got his dog taken away and began to cry so badly he vomited. Her observation was that his entire life except for this raggedy dog had been taken away and then that, too, was yanked out from under him. The suffering is pointed and prolonged while meanwhile we here in The 'Kan live in the fifth-safest city in the country and wonder if we should go out for frozen yogurt tonight or just finish the rest of the movie on the DVD with a popsicle from the freezer.

Sylvie Ruth came to me often today and put her soft fur under my fingers. Right at dusk, she came again and looked into my eyes and wagged. Softly she said, "You know, Grandma, this will happen from time to time. And onetime, maybe soon, it will happen to us. We can't kid ourselves. But in the meantime, we can take a walk, how about right now? and tonight play a little longer before we settle down for bed and have an extra bone before bed while we're at it. And just maybe, somehow, when our troubles settle in, we can remember the good times and each other and who knows Grandma? maybe that will help." And so we headed for Manito Park, all together, and as the starlight flickered on, we could see that being good to each other under any circumstance is a consolation even more velvet than a September evening sky.

~for Louisiana and her people

The 'Kan EWA


ddassoc said...
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This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Bre said...

You're making me tear up. I love my little poochie, thank goodness she's only 4 pounds so I could sneak her on a bus or whatever if I were being evacuated, but five chows! (that's how many you said you had right?) You'd have to dress them up like kids and just explain your babies came out quit hairy.