Turning over a new om

I took Loca as planned to have lunch with mom and picked up burgers at Lee’s on the way. My goal: to go spend time with her and not judge and to let Loca be my healing lab partner.

I found her with another black eye. She had fallen again and now had another black eye on the other side and a twisted ankle.

She said she wouldn’t use the walker because she was going to get better, so she didn’t need it.

Om Om Om – my thought bubble chanted.

We sat on the sofa and Loca came close to beg for food and mom said, “Loca! When did you become such a beggar?”

And I said when people started feeding her human food that makes her turn up her nose to dog food. She’s not a dumb dog.

I got up to look for a napkin in the kitchen, mom called out to me in a sing songy voice, “I think I’m in love.”

“With whom pray tell?” I asked.

She giggled and said, “Obama.”

When I sat back down on the sofa, I said, “Stand in line.”

Loca was sitting straight as an arrow right by me waiting for an ort. I said, “Loca looks like Obama.”

Mom fell backwards on the sofa belly laughing.

“But she does,” I said, “she’s beautiful and sleek and black and looks like she could be Obama dog.”

If you om enough times do you know that it spells mom?

omomomomomomomomomom