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Friday, June 16, 2017

The Joy of a Happy Dog

The joy is mine alone; the wetness is their joy, the running in and out of the water, the occasional swim for the ball; the running up and down the beach. The small squabbles over whose turn it is to take possession of which ball.

"Mine," says Frida, and "mine" repeats Bob, snap, jaws on air, as feet pound the surf.

For the very first time, Frida goes out farther and gets to the stick first. Triumphant Frida.


Confused Babboo.

Happy dogs.

Joyful me.

Frida gets there first

I'm coming for the stick Frida!

Give me that stick!

It's mine Babboo
Babboo get his own ball, so all's well.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Poem about Dogs



Dogs are the hardest to write about because they are so fleet
And so fleeting
Their lives like burning embers with a wet nose
They make the worst metaphors because they are so real
And yet so ethereal
All at the same time

There are so many types of dogs
Some are trees
Some are stars
Some are just plain tired

Well you would be too after
Stressful chasing of squirrels you can never
 Ever catch, who taunt you
With their snarky cackle and small
Brains

You who are so smart, so open
To all things new and shiny and yet
So wary

Do you feel the bones within you beginning to rust
The fuzz that grows into your eyes
Do you remember the stories told
By dogs past
Of warnings given
Of lessons taught

This way danger
Big cats
Cars
Poison oak
Lassie’s in the well
And Timmy can never rescue her

It doesn’t stop you
And your hearts never break
Because we know all the things you don’t
And it doesn’t stop us either