Ava
Notwithstanding,
my obvious feelings...significant sniff...
and a spirited campaign,
promoting
the benefits of canine companionship
including,
but not limited to,
hounding
my husband of 43 years,
seconding
my daughters, who litigate for a living,
to badger their father,
attending
mass on St. Francis Sunday,
although deplorably dogless, never mind
lacking
any connection to the Catholic church,
wearing
tasteless T shirts festooned with
all manner of magnificent tail wagers,
and emblazoned with poignantly pithy,
poochy sayings like,
"Dogs are not our whole life,
but they make our lives whole..."
said husband of 43 years, who invented
stonewalling ,
stuck his nose nearer the New York Times,
muttering
almost inaudibly, “sorry...just not ready”
Conceding,
defeat after 5 long years,
I’d called off the dogs,
eschewing
even a faint hope clause,
when my husband came home carrying Ava,
a 6 pound, 5 year old poodle with
achingly
soft, downy white fuzz ,
Imploring,
liquid black eyes,
oozing
earnestness in a tiny, white face,
searching
for an inside pocket exactly her size
Donning
a somewhat hang dog expression,
my husband introduces Ava
as “my wife’s dog...”
Resembling,
the princess of powder puffs,
she prissily prances beside
this largish man, well over 6 feet,
causing
even committed curmudgeons,
to crack a smile.
Upon hearing her name,
the usual comment is,
“Ava? You mean Ava as in Ava Gardner?
Deadpanning,
my husband responds:
“No...It’s Ava as in Ava Maria.”
Watching,
my husband of 43 years,
holding
wee Ava in a particular way;
co-mingling
complete confidence with exquisite gentleness,
opens a window to
remembering
why I fell in love with this man.
my obvious feelings...significant sniff...
and a spirited campaign,
promoting
the benefits of canine companionship
including,
but not limited to,
hounding
my husband of 43 years,
seconding
my daughters, who litigate for a living,
to badger their father,
attending
mass on St. Francis Sunday,
although deplorably dogless, never mind
lacking
any connection to the Catholic church,
wearing
tasteless T shirts festooned with
all manner of magnificent tail wagers,
and emblazoned with poignantly pithy,
poochy sayings like,
"Dogs are not our whole life,
but they make our lives whole..."
said husband of 43 years, who invented
stonewalling ,
stuck his nose nearer the New York Times,
muttering
almost inaudibly, “sorry...just not ready”
Conceding,
defeat after 5 long years,
I’d called off the dogs,
eschewing
even a faint hope clause,
when my husband came home carrying Ava,
a 6 pound, 5 year old poodle with
achingly
soft, downy white fuzz ,
Imploring,
liquid black eyes,
oozing
earnestness in a tiny, white face,
searching
for an inside pocket exactly her size
Donning
a somewhat hang dog expression,
my husband introduces Ava
as “my wife’s dog...”
Resembling,
the princess of powder puffs,
she prissily prances beside
this largish man, well over 6 feet,
causing
even committed curmudgeons,
to crack a smile.
Upon hearing her name,
the usual comment is,
“Ava? You mean Ava as in Ava Gardner?
Deadpanning,
my husband responds:
“No...It’s Ava as in Ava Maria.”
Watching,
my husband of 43 years,
holding
wee Ava in a particular way;
co-mingling
complete confidence with exquisite gentleness,
opens a window to
remembering
why I fell in love with this man.
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