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The Fuel

Code Angel Mimi

The small kisses from her woke me up each morning and her paws scratched on my arm daily and tenderly. I woke up each morning with love in my arms and not a day goes by that I never have her attention since I bought her from a survivor. Her love is unconditional and I knew since the day I met her that she would be beside me until her dying days. She has a soft heart and a tough bark but loving kisses for me each moment she was given her life on this planet. There was a healing elixir in her kisses and her saliva on my face are potions of hope, love and joy. I knew she wasn't the puppy I deserved, but I got her, my angel.


Mimi was named because she replied to me when she was being her naughty self, chewing on my shoes and gnawing on my thumb and nose. Her relentless kisses greeted me each day and I won't let her live without hugging me for at least 5 full minutes a day. She lays her head on my feet beside me when I write and when I just have the time to read in my bed. This constant companion never bored herself with thoughts of how familiar I was, and how I was the same woman day in and day out. She once cried because her leash was pulled on too tight when I was angry and walking, and the tears in her eyes showed me her sorrows. I never did that again, not to my Mimi.


I asked for children but I was given a puppy, and it was better for me because she caused me no labor pains, but a lot of hope. I went into anguish the moment I discovered I would never become a mother and just a dog-mom, and the aging process was conspicuous. I was late in the game and may never be a player of a loving marriage but I had this loving creature I needed to attend to. There was no time to waste and only playful moments with her. I needed to be present and not cry too much or it would cause her to bark her lungs out as she cries tenderly with me in the process.


I tenuously write in the morning when the sun was rising as meditation and she awakes before me, reminding me of my daily practice. No lonesome moments and no laziness for this little doggy. She demands my attention and she wanted my commitment to the craft and to her, and I was a willing human. Fifteen minutes of bliss with each word typed on this blog meant she has her Mom's attention all day with me in the conscious space of healing with the craft of literature. Dismal thoughts and post-traumatic moments were no longer with me since I started practicing self meditation through writing. Perhaps she was my angel, although not the child I wanted, but the saving grace I needed.



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