You're a Dream to Me

"You poo poo cha cha"  Eduardo's sister announced, shooting out of the kindergarten classroom. 

I keep thinking of all the things our vet told us when we took Temple in for her initial meeting.  You have to brush her teeth once a week.  They make a combo for heartworm and flea prevention that is actually good, you don't have to seperate them anymore to be effective.  They didn't say any of this shit to us before.  They are acting like my dog died ten years ago, but it's only been four months.  It's like she is being shoved into yesteryear.  I submitted Temple's DNA test, just out of curiosity.  It came back, um, pure Pit Bull.  I looked at the rest of my account with the company and Lola's results wouldn't appear.  Why?  Why not?  It kept saying there was an error.  I sat, looking at the printed results I have I of Lola's DNA.  I touched the paper, the picture of her.  

I watched the trailer for the new Nicolas Cage movie while I waited to see Priscilla.   That Cranberries song kept playing, loud.  I've never really been a fan, I'm neutral, didn't hate them, didn't love them.  Over and over again, I kept hearing 'you're a dream to me...' and I'd cry.  I'd picture Lola and cry.  In the car.  At work.  Wherever.   

Temple needs us, and I love her.  She follows me wherever I go, even into the bathroom.   I've stepped on her feet by accident, stumbled over her because she is always right next to us.  I've left her alone for a matter of minutes and came back in, only to find her heart beating out of her chest and her eyes, urgent.  She jumps up and hugs me, tries to climb right up me.  I want her to know that we will always be here, that she is safe.  At night though, when she sleeps in our bed, she doesn't push up next to me.  She sleeps alone, in a little ball at the foot of the bed.  And, she can't bark.  I wrap her up in the velvety blanket that is similar to the one Lola had, but in a different color.  

Papi and I went to see Liz Phair.  It was at the ASO site and she played the whole Guyville.  It was good, but another illuminating look at how old we are and how old everyone else is, too.  The songs seemed different, much different than when we tore that tape up nearly thirty years ago.  

It's Christmas Eve
in the drunk tank
you won't see another one
an old man said to me
.........
I turned my face away
and dreamed about you

I dreamed about you, Lola.  I dreamed about you.  

*Lyrics, Shane MacGowan, Fairytale in New York.  And Lola, I love you baby.