Bulldog Fever

Theres this tough navy guy Dwayne and his royal bulldog Henry who drop by the coffeeshop just about every day for coffee, a breakfast sandwich, a wood pulp newspaper and community buzz. We go bananas for the king here, but he could give two shits about us.

Henry had an older, alpha sister, the imperial queen Victoria and although they made quite the stunning pair , he didnt care about her either, except when she died and he became listless and droopy, dragging his paws for a while. I asked Dwayne about it because I have become wildly invested in Henrys wellbeing. Whether he cares for me or not, I love him.

One year later last week, Dwayne adopted a baby bully Margaret, or Maggie, as she is aptly coined, to love with them in their forever home. Maggie is only six weeks old, so exquisitely sweet and guileless, she can crack the hardest heart, and quite plainly, Dwaynes is shattered. The day before he went to pick her up at the farm where she was bred, he got on his hands and knees, scouring and baby-proofing his apartment from top to bottom, happier than a cynical, life-worn man could ever hope to be. Hed been talking about a baby for a long time, but on that long, sleepless night before her arrival, he posted a photo of Henry guarding her gleaming crate from the couch, and burst my heart with the humility of his words: We are nothing special, but I love our little life.

I was telling this story to a pithy painting restorer from the UK over ginger tea at the coffeeshop and felt another rush of joy when I repeated Dwaynes quiet rapture, word-for-word, and then the Brit said it reminded him of the opening line of a great, American poem , by the euphoric ee cummings :

I am a little church, (no great cathedral)

Bingo.

I looked it up and heres more:

around me surges a miracle of unceasing

birth and glory and death and resurrection:

over my sleeping self float flaming symbols

of hope, and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains...

Dear ee, I breathed as I drank in his words. You nailed it.

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I turn inward and ask: how can we possibly hold on to such simple pleasures? Can I keep this joy and connection alive? Can you? Is it enough to sustain our weary hearts in the fight for equality and health care? In the fight for the health of our world? Can the poetry of life and a newborn pup be enough?

Lovers! We know the answer.

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For more of Brenda Keesals ecstatic tales, follow her blog Burns the Fire .