Sara told me this morning that she has a vivid memory of me stuffing animal rights flyers into the pockets of fur coats at Macy’s. Back when there were malls, so much was possible.

And I wonder what kind of messages I could stuff into what kind of pockets now.

I knew the answer to one of the Thanksgiving trivia questions at inservice yesterday. It was 46 million. 46 million turkeys are murdered each year for this holiday. The question of course was worded a little differently than that, but even with the wording, and the cute turkey clip art, I still understood what it must mean to be a turkey in November.

And I wonder if that was the one time someone might have liked having a vegan on their Thanksgiving trivia team.

I have a friend who learned to slaughter a turkey. First, she sang him a lullaby in her arms and thanked him for his life. Once I met a flock of turkeys at Farm Sanctuary. I fed them blades of grass. If I had to disguise a turkey, I’d disguise it to look like your pet dog. Or perhaps I could just disguise it with facts about how smart turkeys are, how they pass knowledge down to other turkeys, how they purr when you pet them, how they talk to their babies even before they are hatched.

And I wonder what other trauma we would be okay with disguising in a cute school project.

Uncomfortable, I know. Especially if your turkey carcass is already in your house, waiting for Thanksgiving.

I was turning left when I saw an older man walking his golden retriever at the corner. The dog had stopped so the man stopped too. He turned around and they stared at each other for a moment.

The man said something. I don’t know what he said because it wasn’t as spring-like today as it was yesterday. My windows were up. My heat (and my heated seat) was on!

But, I’m pretty sure he said what I have to say to my dog on so many walks.

“Let’s go. We are going this way. I’m in charge.”

And I’m pretty sure the golden retriever just laughed. I mean his mouth was open in that amazing golden retriever smile. You know the one.

I drove away laughing, so I’ll never know who got their way.

When this exchange happens on my walks I usually feel all sorts of feelings. I’m frustrated because I want to keep walking. I’m empathetic and feel bad for my dog who just wants to make an autonomous decision about where to walk. I don’t usually laugh.

But watching it through the van window? Seeing the dog smiling? I laughed, and honestly their exchange brought me so much joy. Some might say this makes me evil. I think it just gave me a little perspective.

Later I took my dog for a walk, and we got to the place where he always wants to go towards the park. He stopped and I sighed.

I told him, “Finn, I know you know I laughed and cheered for that golden retriever earlier. But right now we need to go this way on a short walk. Then, we will snuggle. Then you can have another walk. I’m in charge.”

And you know what? He walked with me, and I laughed.

Until we got to the next corner where he wanted to go to the other park, of course.

Oh, Finn. I’m trying to write a poem
for you!
A slice of birthday writing
for you!
A love poem
for you!

A distinguished gentleman, your love more than genuine…

But the sun is out and for you…
A sniff-ari walk is the only thing you want to do
And so you annoy me, paw at my hands, don’t let me type
put the puppy dog eyes on strong. Oh, you!

I forgive you, of course
because just look at that face

Since you were a baby, without any gray, you knew how to get your way.
Your favorite treats, that list would be long, but carrots, popcorn, cucumbers would come in strong.

I’m just saying, if I didn’t have to wrestle my arm from you, I would write you a Birthday poem, Finn.

Roses are red
You are black, with gray
I can’t finish this poem
Because it’s a sunny day

Oh, Finn! I know You want to go out. Walks are fun, but don’t discount laying sun, and sniff-aris to sniff around a ton.

I can’t believe you’re nine! A distinguished, still spoiled canine.

If you see me walking around the neighborhood with my dog, Finn, there are a few things you have to understand.

I’ll tell you those things, but now I want to sing it.

If you see me walking by
With my dog on a leash
Look away, baby, look away.

(Couldn’t help it.)

He loves to sniff, and likes to stop often. But that’s not the issue. My ankle has been giving me problems, so I might be hobbling slowly along. But, that is also not the issue. Strangely enough, the fact that I will most likely be holding a bag of poop is also not the issue you need to understand.

You will see me talking to him along the way. It might even be in an odd accent you’ve never heard me speak in during my human interactions.

“Finny,” I might say, “You are the bestest dog.” That’s pretty normal, for dog folks, I think.

But I might also try to have a little extra conversation with him.

“Your birthday bandana is so handsome on you! You have to wear it a few more days since it’s your birthday week, Finny!”

I might even ask him questions, like, “Do you think I should try to do my work as soon as I get home, Finny? Or should I maybe sit on the couch and read? Or, I could write!”

The most embarrassing thing though, is that most likely, my “loyal” pooch will be totally ignoring me, sniffing his nose into the sun and all the leaf piles, wagging his tail, and checking out the neighborhood. Sometimes if I’m very insistent, saying “Finnegan. Don’t you want to look at me? Remember I’m the one walking you!” He will reluctantly turn his head just a little and look at me with dissapointment.

He’s embarrassed to be seen with me, I think.

Sometimes I put my AirPods in and listen to a book or a podcast, but then I feel bad for ignoring him. But something tells me that’s the way he prefers his walks.

Please understand —

If I look like I’m plugged into my AirPods, ignoring my dog, that is because of how he wants it! If you see my dog ignoring me, that is because he has an attitude, and doesn’t want me to bother him on our walks. It’s embarrassing.

So…

If you see me walking by
With my dog on a leash
Look away, baby, look away…
And if we meet on the streets someday
And I don’t know what to say (to my dog)
Look away, baby, look away
Don’t look at me
I don’t want you to see me this way

Here are a few pictures of the bestest dog with an attitude:

Our eyes still sting from crying and once someone told me to tell stories from scars
not
fresh wounds
like this

My son keeps thinking the shoes in the middle of the floor are the cat we just put down 7 hours ago

Although –

I still think I see Theodore
who died 7
weeks
ago
every time I walk into my room and see the cats’ water fountain out of the corner of my eye

Oh. Wait. That’s the
cat’s
water
singular

One cat now
down from 3

This is a fresh wound

The vet said
the last thing to stop is the heart

I found myself repeating that in my brain
over and over
as she put her stethoscope to my
not-even-two-year-old cat’s chest

The last thing to stop is the heart

After she left me there to say goodbye to him
to Clyde
that’s his name, I’d like you to remember him with his name
Clyde
Clyde-o
Pinky Toe
Stinky man

After she left me to say goodbye to Clyde
I repeated it again

The last thing to stop is the heart

And I took out my phone and typed that in my notes

It was it’s own poem

And I know from experience
unfortunately
That writing from fresh wounds helps them scar

The last thing to stop is the heart
before that, his breathing stopped
that was quick
but before that it took him extra shots to settle down
before his hissing stopped
and his growls when I pet him
before that he let me scratch the top of his head and stroke his mitten paws
before that he let me
hold
him

Dying is stopping
I know this

stop
peeing
playing
eating
hissing
growling
breathing
and then
the last thing to stop
is the heart