My in laws care for Siesta like I did and it shows because she is perfect
Siesta looking beautiful yesterday in the Philippines
Dear Readers,
You know I'm a sucker for a dog and any dog will do because I'm not fussy at all.
My dogs in Australia are amazing and I'm so happy to have weekly up dates on their action. My angel Pickles will be eight soon and Lucy has just turned seven. I will see them soon which is incredible because I've never been away from them for longer than four months.
Beautiful Siesta is in the Philippines and she has grown into a perfect Golden Retriever and enjoys a very nice home with a wonderful family.
Siestas' lineage is impeccable and her blood line will always be from Boracay.
Although I would love to have another dog.....the BF is terribly allergic...so no dog for now.
I love this poem not only because it revolves around dogs but because it made me very emotional. I was so truly touched. I've provided a link where you will find more wonderful poems by Mila D. Aguilar.
Mila D. Aguilar was also known as Clarita Roja when she was underground for thirteen years during the period of Martial Law.
She had chosen the name Clarita Roja, which means "clear red", thinking it to signify the red of communism. Little did she know then that it also means the blood of Jesus Christ.
Clarita Roja it was who wrote such books of poetry as The Mass Line and Dare to Struggle, Dare to Win.
Almost all her poems, including those she wrote from age 15, were collected in a volume published by the University of the Philippines Press in 1996 (Journey: An Autobiography in Verse).
A Story Of Mothers By Mila D. Aguilar
My son once had a dog
Not too long ago.
Her name was Helga.
She was a Labrador
Lovable and well-fed.
When she had children,
Still young and bouncy,
My son sold them, eight in all,
Keeping only one, whom he named
Sheik. Sheik it was, when
He'd grown bigger than she,
That she playfully ran away with
One day, the gate having been
Left open. Distraught, only
My prayers and his wife's
And daughter's guiding him,
My son looked far and wide for them,
Tacking wanted posters
With their pictures on walls
And trees, announcing a reward
For their return. We found
The two separately
The week after, Sheik
By a restaurant, haggard
And unkempt, Helga
In a house trembling,
Refusing to eat -- her rescuer,
A kind old woman, said.
By all accounts both
Had managed by their size
To escape from violent men
In passing jeeps.
But at a price.
Each got home days apart
Not only sobered, but
Interminably sad, as if
They had finally discovered
What kind of world they lived in.
Sheik recovered slightly
After some months, drawn
Closer to his mother
Than he had ever been,
But Helga was never the same
Again. After a year, she
Started to bleed. My son's wife
Took her to a vet twice,
Subjecting her to surgery
For the dog had cancer,
She was told. But
It couldn't be helped. Helga
Grew so thin, her big bones
Stuck out, only her belly bulging.
She could hardly move.
I would see Sheik circling round her
All day, his head hanging,
His shoulders draped
Like a sad cloak around him.
He would smell the blood
Trickling out of her the way
Angels prophesy the death of men.
And so one day
We had to bury her.
But we could not bury Sheik's
Anguish. His eyes lost
All gleam forever, his gait lost
Its youth. He started to walk
Like an old man though he was but
Four years old. Like me, up to now
He must still be dreaming
Nightly about his mother,
How they'd walk together in fun
Under the canopy of heaven,
Floating above the folly
Of the world and mortal men,
Wondering why, of all the dead
In one's life, whether it be long
Or short, mothers are missed most.
http://studentsofenglish.blogspot.com/She had chosen the name Clarita Roja, which means "clear red", thinking it to signify the red of communism. Little did she know then that it also means the blood of Jesus Christ.
Clarita Roja it was who wrote such books of poetry as The Mass Line and Dare to Struggle, Dare to Win.
Almost all her poems, including those she wrote from age 15, were collected in a volume published by the University of the Philippines Press in 1996 (Journey: An Autobiography in Verse).
A Story Of Mothers By Mila D. Aguilar
My son once had a dog
Not too long ago.
Her name was Helga.
She was a Labrador
Lovable and well-fed.
When she had children,
Still young and bouncy,
My son sold them, eight in all,
Keeping only one, whom he named
Sheik. Sheik it was, when
He'd grown bigger than she,
That she playfully ran away with
One day, the gate having been
Left open. Distraught, only
My prayers and his wife's
And daughter's guiding him,
My son looked far and wide for them,
Tacking wanted posters
With their pictures on walls
And trees, announcing a reward
For their return. We found
The two separately
The week after, Sheik
By a restaurant, haggard
And unkempt, Helga
In a house trembling,
Refusing to eat -- her rescuer,
A kind old woman, said.
By all accounts both
Had managed by their size
To escape from violent men
In passing jeeps.
But at a price.
Each got home days apart
Not only sobered, but
Interminably sad, as if
They had finally discovered
What kind of world they lived in.
Sheik recovered slightly
After some months, drawn
Closer to his mother
Than he had ever been,
But Helga was never the same
Again. After a year, she
Started to bleed. My son's wife
Took her to a vet twice,
Subjecting her to surgery
For the dog had cancer,
She was told. But
It couldn't be helped. Helga
Grew so thin, her big bones
Stuck out, only her belly bulging.
She could hardly move.
I would see Sheik circling round her
All day, his head hanging,
His shoulders draped
Like a sad cloak around him.
He would smell the blood
Trickling out of her the way
Angels prophesy the death of men.
And so one day
We had to bury her.
But we could not bury Sheik's
Anguish. His eyes lost
All gleam forever, his gait lost
Its youth. He started to walk
Like an old man though he was but
Four years old. Like me, up to now
He must still be dreaming
Nightly about his mother,
How they'd walk together in fun
Under the canopy of heaven,
Floating above the folly
Of the world and mortal men,
Wondering why, of all the dead
In one's life, whether it be long
Or short, mothers are missed most.
click link for more amazing poetry and writings
Siesta is such a perfect Retriever and my BF's family love her dearly
(ex).jpg)
