A neighbourhood dog named Belle (a shepherd mix) turned up; her owners were apparently out of town, and she escaped her yard.
She came to help.
The swelling on my chest wall is a locus of pain, something I really can't describe, and something I would not wish on my worst enemy. It's hideosu.
And Belle knows what to do. At night, she arranges herself as a soft canine heating pad, gently warming the tumour and gently easing my fears.
I borrow courage from her kindness.
God's angels take disparate form
and deftly hide their wings.
We look for tropes, define the norm,
and miss the vital things.
Like Belle, a dog who came to aid
my agony and my pain,
and who against my side laid
soothing tumour's vicious bane.
She was a stranger to this place,
she ran so wild and free,
but something called her to the grace
that bid her rescue me.
And so I do not find it odd
that 'dog' is an anagram of God.
And just for fun, here are The Ventures with Telstar.
Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.
Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.