i carry your heart with me -- e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Doggone unbearable

Life is bearable if I act as though I never had a dog. Then I see a forgotten bag of treats, or I walk in the back door and remember the tail-wagging, body-wriggling greetings I used to get after a day at work. The shields of denial part momentarily and, between them, my mind's eye gets a glimpse of my beloved companion. Instantly my entire body sags under the weight of the loss. Then the shields snap shut, for I can bear the pain no more than a moment.

Dogs have short lives, my rational mind says. You knew he would die eventually, so there's no reason to act like it was such a tragedy, it scolds.

Yes, but, but ...

Indeed. What has reason got to do with the bond that forms between two creatures whose entire shared vocabulary consists of a handful of one-word commands and non-verbals like head scritching and tail wagging?

If love were required to be "reasonable," there would be a whole lot less of it in this world. On the other hand, it seems quite reasonable to become attached to someone who has been with you through divorce, depression and displacement. It seems entirely rational to love someone who for more than 13 years has shared my tea, eagerly joined me on walks and slept and dreamed beside me.

Then it occurs to me that what would be more unbearable than losing Yukon would be to never have loved him at all.

Wise words ...

... off a bumper sticker, no less: "Kindness to animals is the hallmark of human achievement."

Hail, Snoopy! Beagle Wins Westminster

Hail, Snoopy! Beagle Wins Westminster

By BEN WALKER

NEW YORK (AP) — Start dancin', Snoopy. You're out of the Westminster doghouse.

At long last, a beagle is America's top dog. Baying and barking to his heart's delight, Uno lived up every bit to his name Tuesday night, becoming the first of his breed to win best in show at the nation's biggest canine competition.

"He's a people's dog, a merry little hound," handler Aaron Wilkerson said.

A sold-out crowd at Madison Square Garden that called and chanted Uno's name stood and roared when he was picked as numero uno. He got right into the act, jumping on Wilkerson and confirming his other title: noisiest in show.

Years from now, it'll be known as the "ah-roo!" heard 'round the ring.

The only breed consistently among the nation's most popular dogs for nearly 100 years, a beagle had never won in the 100 times the Westminster Kennel Club had chosen a winner. That changed when judge J. Donald Jones pointed to this nearly 3-year-old package of personality.

No longer an underdog — make that an Underdog — Uno beat out two neatly primped poodles, a top Sealyham terrier, a sleek Weimaraner, a lively Australian shepherd and a sprightly Akita.

"He's perfect, he was a 10," Jones said. "He does cuteness well."

Read the rest here:

http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5ibgIvow71lch7hSBADK_7n5U44KgD8UPBHU00

The worst day of my life

The day I dreaded more than any other has come. My best buddy, Yukon Cornelius, is gone.

The emotions are too overwhelming and the thoughts too jumbled to express, but anyone who's been loved by an animal can empathize with what I'm going through. So I'll just tell a little about what happened.

Yukon showed no sign of anything amiss. He danced for his supper, ate heartily, trotted up and down the streets of our neighborhood with me and snored like an old man while he slept.

Friday night was the first he gave any indication something was wrong. At bedtime, he climbed as far as the top landing of the steps and no more, despite calls for him to come to bed. The next day he turned up his nose at his kibble both at breakfast and supper. He lacked his usual energy but gave no cause for alarm. My friend Lois was visiting for the weekend and we packed our schedule with events, not realizing his life was ebbing away.

When he refused his kibble Sunday morning, I picked at my scrambled eggs and contemplated taking him for an expensive trip to the emergency vet. Finally I made the call, and Lois and I piled ourselves and Yukon into her car, bound for the vet. As Yukon ambled – and sniffed – his way into the building, I had no idea it would be our last walk together.

In short, X-rays and an ultrasound revealed that half of Yukon's heart had stopped beating, causing blood to pool in the liver. The only (remote) chance of extending his life was with a $3,000-$5,000 operation to insert a pacemaker. But the vet said she couldn't even guarantee that he'd survive the anesthesia necessary for surgery.

Even if the procedure had been free, it wouldn't be right to ask my best buddy to suffer simply to postpone my pain. After an agonizing good-bye, the vet administered the tranquilizer and Yukon went to sleep forever. I sobbed as I cradled his warm but lifeless body, unwilling to let each touch or look be my last. I snipped off bits of fur, here from the thick tri-colored mane around his neck, there from the graceful white finger of hair that curved into the black saddle on his back.

At home, the site of this unfinished rawhide chew toy or that newly-purchased bag of dog food brings fresh tears. In my mind I wrestle over whether to remember or forget. If you've ever been loved by an animal, you know exactly what I mean.