He sat at the kitchen table with both hands flat, palms down, letting his fingers slip in and out of the grooves routed in its cool oak surface. He stared for a time down over the pasture to the pond. It was morning but hard to tell how early. He felt like he’d been up a long time since he came in from the barn, hours before first light. But the sky was overcast, a gray dome of diffused indifferent glare. There was just a little wind.

The clock above the stove said not yet eight, and he knew that she would not like to proceed in such weather, but the task could not be put aside. He was burning daylight. Clouds or no, the day was getting warmer, and the heat of day would only bring more misery.

In the barn, he went first to her stall and looked down where she lay on her side in the hay. Her head was covered with an old Navajo blanket, but he knew her eyes were closed because he had closed them. Her tongue was a little out between her teeth, because there was nothing he could do about that. But her coat was russet and shining in the light from the doors. He thought about brushing her one more time, but she was truly through with such things.

He considered calling a neighbor, so maybe he could get some help. No. All I have to do is this, then that. The next right thing. Like words in their order, or how you tie a knot. Step by step until I get it done. It’s mine to do and mine alone. Not every man has fallow land and half a day to spend on death, let alone kindness.

He used the sling, the block and tackle, and in an hour had her up and swung out to the center of the barn, laid gently on a tarp. This he folded over her, wrapped her well and bound her around with rope. Then backed the front-loader through the doors and chained it to the load. And so they went, old man on the tractor, horse in her great canvas blanket. Down over the pasture, past the pond and up the hill.

It’s just love lingering
in a gray day alone.
Just love, or the pull of the wind
to where it goes beyond the hill.

The sun broke through slowly as he used the machine to make the hole, paused to remove his cap and wipe the sweat from his head with a rag. He remembered that she liked to work cattle.

© 2005 by Kyle Kimberlin
all rights reserved

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A Froggy 4th,
originally uploaded by kylekimberlin.

Hope you all are having a very froggy 4th. President Bush has taken the Independence Day opportunity to remind us that we must endeavor to persevere in Iraq, ‘cuz it’s not easy being red, white & blue. Or something to the same irrelevant effect.

I’ve had a pretty good day, mostly just getting ready for tomorrow. It’s going to be busy. I have a guy coming to de-flea my raging bachelor crib, so preparations must be made. Seemed like a good day for a little summer cleaning. Also tomorrow, Tasha and I are off again to visit the doctor in Ojai. Should be nice and warm over there.

I did do a couple of things today that I don’t normally do. I sat at my dining table at drank a cup of coffee, while listening to James Taylor. Cranked it up pretty loud, to cover the intermittent sound of my doofus neighbor’s power saw. God knows what he was building, right outside my window. (In condos, everything you do is right outside somebody’s window, which is what makes him an inconsiderate doofus.) He seems to enjoy sculpting abstract art from junk plywood. Then, feeling musical, I went over to my old piano and played it for a while. That kinda felt good; it’s been a long time. I think I got the neighbors’ attention too, as they stopped chattering like a flock of roosting pigeons, punctuated by juvenile howler monkeys.

I took the photo yesterday. My folks’ have that little frog band in their back yard. I believe my nephew added the flag during his recent visit. I added the watercolor filter in Photoshop, for reasons passing understanding.

Have a good week.

Yesterday morning, I took Tasha to the vet for a followup lab work for chronic renal failure. It’s been two weeks since she was diagnosed.

The vet just called and the news is very good! Her BUN and creatnine levels are normal. Phosporous is OK. Thyroid is even OK. CK and anemia up a little, but acceptable, considering she is 15 years old fur cryin’ out loud. All this means her kidneys are working at normal levels!

We’ll cut back sub-q fluids (doggie dialysis) to 5 days per week, and continue her diet, accupuncture and herbs for now.

I’m very happy, and Tasha is getting around better, eating well, and seems to feel better than she has in a while. You should have seen her this morning, coming up the driveway almost at a run. Two weeks ago, she could barely walk.

Glory to God.

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Old Yeller Bus,
originally uploaded by kylekimberlin.

I remember this little yellow Playskool bus. It was my little brother’s when we were kids, back in the 1960s. Now his little boy is playing with it. It works. The driver’s head turns and the headlight eyes move up and down. We even have all the pieces – all the little passengers. The driver’s hat is missing, and I couldn’t tell you where it is. But strangely, somewhere back in the dark corner of memory, I think I remember it being removed.

One interesting thing about this bus: The chassis is made of two blocks of solid wood. The body is plastic, but the core of the toy is wood blocks. Keeps the center of gravity low, reducing risk of rollover accidents.

You got anything this cool left from the days?

The Old Road to the Beach,
originally uploaded by kylekimberlin.

I took a long walk recently – my Dad and I and my new camera – down to the bluffs across the highway from my house. It’s a beautiful area, which I can see from my balcony – with a big grove of eucalyptus trees, a pier, a little beach where sea lions nursery their pups every winter.

This is a view from the trail, looking east toward Ventura on the far right and Rincon in the center. This old road used to lead down to piers that were removed about the time I was born.

See that yellow gash in the hillside, just to the right of the center? That’s the mudslide which killed 10 people earlier this year at La Conchita.

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Anticipation,
originally uploaded by kylekimberlin.

Tasha just finished the animal crackers she got a few days ago. I got them for her because a friend who also has a dog with renal failure suggested them. The ingredients do look a lot more benign than the dog treats she used to scarf, and it’s OK with the vet.
Tash used to love opening boxes, and went after this one with practiced dedication. But in the end, she accepted help. I let her use the scissors.

Don’t miss the latest Baghdad Burning post, from the land of freedom under occupation.

Thai Fishermen Net 646-Pound Catfish – Yahoo! News

This one’s for my Dad. You clean it, I’ll cook it.

I’ve been sitting here going through my poems, trying to find one to post for my recently dead friend, Tracey. I’m sure he’ll find his way into my new writing eventually, but I wanted to post something now. I failed to find anything I could stand. There are times when reading one’s own writing is like accidentally biting into aluminum foil. Not really what you were hoping for.

No matter. I don’t think it’s the kind of thing Tracey would’ve wanted anyway.

So anyway, I’ve got this root canal on the calendar for first thing in the morning, and I need to lighten up. Here, I’ve got just the thing. On Saturday, I spent a little time in the playhouse in my folks backyard, with my little nephew. I was trying to sing this song for him, but I couldn’t remember the words. So we sang the first two lines a bunch of times, and played, and that was OK.

It’s not that easy being green
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves
When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow, or gold
Or something much more colorful like that

It’s not easy being green
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things
And people tend to pass you over
‘Cause you’re not standing out
Like flashy sparkles in the water
r stars in the sky

But green’s the color of spring
And green can be cool and friendly-like
And green can be big like a mountain
Or important like a river
Or tall like a tree

When green is all there is to be
It could make you wonder why
But why wonder why wonder
I am green, and it’ll do fine
It’s beautiful, and I think it’s what I want to be

I’m thinking that sometime soon I’m going to reinstall the code for haloscan comments on the blog. But I didn’t want to do so and lose the following poem, which commenter Corewell left in Blogger comments a few days ago. It’s worth thinking about.

The Goldfish Floats to the Top of His Life and turns over,
a shaving from somebody’s hobby.
So it is that men die at the whims of great companies,
their neckties pulling them speechless into machines,
their wives finding them slumped in the shower,
their hearts blown open like boiler doors.
In the night, again and again
these men float to the tops of their dreams
to drift back to their desks in the morning.
If you ask them, they all would prefer to have died in their sleep.

by Ted Kooser

Rightful liberty is unobstructed action according to our will within limits drawn around us by the equal rights of others. I do not add ‘within the limits of the law’ because law is often but the tyrant’s will, and always so when it violates the rights of the individual.

-Thomas Jefferson

Isn’t it hard to look at that and not think of the recent decisions on eminent domain and medical marjuana?

An interesting post on David Brin’s blog, about the GI bill and its effects on American class structure:

Look around and recognize what’s happening for the very simple thing that it is. All administration policies fall into place in light of a vast raid by kleptocrats. Not the brightest portion of the aristocracy, only the most rapacious part, willing to send us into war (stupidly) but unwilling (for the first time in US history, to tax themselves to help pay for it.

[Link]