Well, you are definitely getting requisite exercise, Max. A tale, indeed.
I think you’re noble just to walk yourself up those stairs…
Doug
On Aug 12, 2015, at 8:11 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> The pet stroller came urgently
> in a pack from Amazon -
> where else? I lugged the box
> up three flights of stairs,
> folded out the frame, fitted
>
> three wheels, played like a kid
> with the cute bike-tyre pump.
> I pressed the wrappings
> deep into the carton
> and disposed of it.
>
> Why our need? our Lift
> (by Krupp!) had gone kaput.
> Our post-op Lab was coming
> back from hospital,
> weak and stiff and Not
> to go on stairs, up or down.
>
> First we tried with Pink,
> the younger Lab - do take
> a ride. No way! she squirmed!
> she could tell it was unsafe,
> undignified, unLabrador.
>
> What this in the instructions?
> Do Not Use on Stairs. Shush,
> while the Elevator stays Kaput,
> we have no choice, down or up.
> Bring home the dog - we’ll see.
>
> He came, we sniffed the dead
> elevator door and then the stair.
> Here a strong human should bundle
> the needy creature in his arms,
> carrying him up three flights,
>
> however slowly. We three stared,
> none of us strong, and lifted
> slow feet up one stair, two,
> three...to the first landing.
> That wasn’t too bad!
>
> Take a breather, a few steps,
> another breather. This is OK.
> Along to the flat door, home.
> Rest, everybody, while Pink
> enjoys the overdue reunion.
>
> So convalescence passes,
> each day a little stronger.
> So the elevator firm
> slowly solves its problems.
> Health returns together
>
> in dog and elevator.
> That leaves a smart virgin
> pet-stroller. I wheel it over
> to the apartment office.
> They’d said in this emergency
>
> they’d bear the cost. Park it
> in a corner, I suggest, till
> the next emergency, when
> dogs and humans call:
> we need that stroller now.
Douglas Barbour
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Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Done in by creation itself.
I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
Robert Kroetsch.
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