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The
Christmas Cat
Brenda
Kay Ledford
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK lab,
Pepper, got cancer. The veterinarian gave my dog only a few weeks to
live. He suggested I put my best friend down. That would be the most
humane thing to do. I finally relented to animal euthanasia. It was
the hardest decision I ever made. I grieved for Pepper and vowed to
never own another dog. He was just like family.
Christmas came on the heels of my pet’s death. It would be the
worst holiday ever. I decided to not decorate my house. I just
couldn’t get into a jolly mood. Without my beloved dog, I didn’t
want to observe the holiday. The stores stocked Christmas items
before Thanksgiving. Whenever I walked into a business, the upbeat
songs made me cringe. What was so merry about this holiday?
A week before Christmas, I glanced out the window as snowflakes
twirled across the Blue Ridge Mountains. When Pepper was alive, I
wrapped a scarf around his neck and he went sledding with me. Back
then, I looked forward to celebrating Christmas.
As I gazed out the kitchen window, a creature slunk through the
snow. It froze in the yard, and our eyes locked. The cat mowed,
jumped, and clawed my window. She was actually pretty with her
ginger stripes and white paws. I tossed food outside. On Christmas
Eve, I was sweeping my porch when she appeared. I reached out my
hand and she licked it. I stroked her fur and she purred. She
wrapped around my legs and begged to be my animal. That’s how
Gingerbread became my special Christmas present.
BRENDA KAY LEDFORD resides in Hayesville, NC.
Her work has appeared in all of the Old Mountain Press anthologies
and many other journals. She received the Lighthouse Award from
North Carolina Society of Historians for her writing. Ledford’s
poetry collection, The Rain Crow’s Calling, is forthcoming
with Kelsay Books. |
Oh
Puppy, My Puppy
Anne Gruner
Oh
puppy, my puppy who barks and cries
and
seems to grow before my eyes.
You
roll and rumble and run so fast,
you
trip and stumble in the grass.
You
chew my socks and eat my shoes
and
often do whatever you choose.
So
many toys, you play and play,
and
don’t quite master the meaning of stay.
But
please go potty outside, not in.
On
this one matter my patience grows thin.
You
tug your leash to go where you please,
and
soon I know you’ll bring home fleas.
There’s
a distant dog you want to see,
you
flip your collar and then run free.
You
shed and shed, but are the sweetest,
even
if you’re not the neatest.
You
howl for no cause and beg for food,
but
most the time, you’re pretty good.
Dog is
God backwards, there’s a reason for that.
Don’t
know what it is, but for that I will clap.
Oh
puppy, my puppy, I’m so glad you’re mine.
I’ll
love you forever, to me you’re divine.
ANNE GRUNER’S is a Pushcart nominee. Her poetry has appeared in
over twenty publications, including Amsterdam Quarterly Review,
Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Wayfarer Magazine, The Raven Review, New
Verse News, Humans of the World, Spillwords, and Written
Tales." Her stories can be found in Dogwood Journal,
Third Flatiron’s Rhapsody of the Spheres, Persimmon Tree,
Constellations Journal, Hippocampus Magazine, and others. A
former CIA analyst, Anne lives in McLean, VA with her husband and
two golden retrievers. https://www.annegruner.com/ |
