The soul calls us to love.
Missy and Charlie were nameless
dogs on the street when I found them,
and I picked them up, put them in
the car, took them home, bathed them
with my friend, cut their mattes out,
took them to the vet, assessed their
age, checked for microchips, named
them, spayed and neutered them.
I wanted to give them up after
all that because we already had two
dogs at home, but my friend, whose
house I lived in, said I could leave
anytime I wanted—
but the dogs were staying.
Mini-schnauzers, Missy and Charlie,
brother and sister, lovers, friends,
co-survivors of homelessness in
dirty “Los Angeles.”
How else can a land be that was
sacked by Spain, Mexico, then
the British USA? We put roads,
concrete, asphalt and European
civilization over a paradise
natives called Otsungna, the
place of the roses.
Too stressful a place, in the end,
for Missy—who was high-strung anyway.
She lived to lick, run and play, had a
strong appetite until she got struck
I see her running in circles around
us walking, boundless energy
and love from God.
I used to tell her and her
brother, “The LORD made you,
you know that?” I saw in their
eyes the light of God, Creation
itself, innocence and honesty.
We are all brothers and sisters
from the same seed.
Missy lives where she always lived:
in the heart of Spirit, love,
licking life up to two hundred times
Give all you got to life, and you
never need to mourn the loss
of a friend that did the same.