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I watch him sleep, fingers interwoven on

  • I watch him sleep, fingers interwoven on his chest. I had a bad dream again. I wait patiently for the rise and fall of his chest to confirm that he is still with me. And there

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  • in my chest I feel again the sting of uncertainty, that twinge of fear that he may not live. The doctors had told me he wouldn't live past three, but he had. I just didn't know how

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  • to count in dog years. Was that 21 months? Do Chihuahuas live longer than your average dog? Should I consult a vet? Anyway, I'd raised him like my own child & now he was attending

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  • to my sick mother. What a sweet Chihuahua. He fetches her walkers and fresh colostomy bags.

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  • "Poo-poo stink" me thinks, unwilling to share the thought with my ailing mom. She may be old but she's not dumb. She knows I find it hard to see her like this, pooping all over th

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  • e place, puking in the trash can instead of the toliet. "Mom, you need to be in a rest home. I can't bare to see you this way. You're a smart lady." She hung her head. "You're righ

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  • t," my mother said, "but first let me finish feeding these baby birds." She continued to bring up the contents of her stomach into the bin before walking off. When I looked in I

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  • Felt sick. These worms took up the whole blackbirds' mouths. There were 495 of them. That translated into more than enough for an emergency, for all the hatchlings. The agreement

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  • that 24 blackbirds were required for the pie filling had not included any clause stating that said blackbirds must be well-fed, or even alive, but the supplier was a professional

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  • magician from the radio days who would rather saw a woman in half than let any harm befall the birds coaxed out of his top hat, whom some saw as doves, and others as crows.

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