Ignore Me Like You Mean It

We think of little things, Poop on the floor and Rubber rings. Ticks and fleas, and Oh crap! They’re on me! They get in your way and Always want to play. You push them down and love Them up, never once thinking About this pup, Who holds you dear, looks up and smiles Then starts to act goofy, once in a while. Feed and bathe, giggle when he melts with love, Kick at him to get away from the stove. Then one day He’s gone. You’re faced with the death of a dog, The empty space, the hollow bowl, Your empty heart, with a gaping hole. Say goodbye, one last time, cause this Little guy died with his boots on. © Krystal Dailey For Bubba July 1, 2006 – June 2, 2010 He was everything a good dog should be. “The pain is so intense, because the joy was so intense.” – Wesley Smith

About two weeks ago, my dog got out. He loves to run, and he always comes home, so I wasn't terribly worried. Then Bugsy, the dog who got out with him, came home. Alone. I started to worry. Fast forward ten days, and I kept having a feeling that having the chip in him wasn't enough. I needed to put posters up. So we did. I haven't slept in days, and I keep looking at his spot, wondering whose house he is in, and if there are children there. Today Aaron woke me up from a nap to tell me he had some bad news, and he had gotten a phone call from a neighbor. Apparently she was out of town, and didn't see the sign until yesterday. She's been trying to call us ever since. Bubba wandered into her property, and two of her dogs attacked and killed him. My Bubba is dead. It's so hard to write those words, and yet, I know I have to. I knew, the day after he got out, that something was wrong. I felt it. I just knew. The universe was not the same anymore. The neighbor, Ms. Hu...

"Badge of Courage" I wear this badge of courage on my chest, To tell the world that I'm not like the rest… I may be small and I may be frail, But this little lady is tougher than nails. I wear a badge of courage on my chest To remind me of a weaker woman, It's not small or silver, or a braided gold, Just something that reminds me to let her go. I may be tired and scared, but I'm not weak, I'm the one who beat this thing while standing Within arms open wide, on my own two feet. Scars are brazen and never heal, At least that's the way I think it feels. Sexy is a state of mind, and if I am then so are you. Does your badge lie upon your chest too? Krystal D. Dailey © 2004