When I was young, a little pup
I had such difficulty getting up
I flipped and flopped
And slid some more
Till I had polished the entire floor.
You see, my ears were verrry long
And often twirled me round and round
Till one fine day I lifted up
And flew ten feet, then did not stop.
That’s Easy! I cried aloud
And soon I flew to parts unknown
Where people looked and cried aloud – that’s Easy!
As I waved right back.
I traveled far, I traveled wide
Collecting friends from every side–
Australia, Paris, New York, Berlin
How glad I was to be invited in
To homes of thousands, and to share
My life and antics everywhere.
So Easy I was to everyone
So Easy it was to make having fun
As Easy as life can be for one.
I showered my love on all I met
I shared myself with nay a care
I’ll Easily see you again, I’m sure
I’m in your heart, forever more.
Category Archives: Pets
When I was young, a little pup
Well, said I, it’s right as rain
As snow fell down the window pane
“And almost spring,” the Reinbear said
As he rolled and tumbled out of bed.
I think you’re wrong or quite mistaken
I’m sure I would remember that
If spring were here, then I would cheer!
And cry “Hooray!” and be quite gay.
“It’s not too late to do a jig and herald in the woodland sprigs”
And so the Reinbear danced and sang
While snowflakes followed him around.
He did not care if it was cold, or blustery or grey,
He knew that nestled in his heart
Spring was just a little way.
He’d wait for it, for blooms and sun
For all his friends to come and run
Along the river, down the lane
He knew that Spring was when they came.
“I’ll take a nap” the Reinbear said
“And when I wake I know I’ll see
The sun and grass, all green and bright
And spring will be a sheer delight!”
So in December when all was cold
Dreary, dark and dank,
I hurried quietly into bed
And slept and dreamt with Reinbear near
Till snow turned into rivers clear
Of daffodils and crocus blooms
Sparkling in the azure blue.
The Weimaraner and the German shepherd were the very best of friends
Hand in hand they strolled the land, far and wide through forest glens.
Then one fine day, from east to west, as clear a day could be,
Something, unbeknownst to them, was decidedly not right
And being very fearful, they fell into a fright.
“If you so please, and if you might, look far into the distance.”
And the Weimaraner huffed and puffed, as he spoke with much insistence.
Now the German shepherd, young and foolish, took care to do what pleased
So carefully she turned her head, as she began to sneeze
For she was prone, as you must know, to various reactions
And even with the right precautions
Her nose began to quiver, her body shook and quaked
Her head went back, her legs a jumble, and quick as be began to tumble,
Rolling past the Weimaraner, fast as a summer breeze.
“I say, that little gal of mine is getting rather sassy,”
Though none was there to hear or care, or his brilliant words to pass to.
His legs unfolded, and then his ears, and they began to flap,
Such a sight he was, as he flew past streams, and over the treetops,
For though they did intend to, without warning they did land too
Smack in the middle of a herd of cows, mooing softly while eating lunch,
Munching grass, so brilliantly green
With shades of chartreuse and violet, it seemed
That the cows were confused or possibly drunk
Though ranting and raving they were never mean,
But would stand and complain, in a long steady stream,
About family and friends and the Queen of England.
“It’s futile to talk to cows, and quite out of the question.”
So the friends declined, and in no time, slipped away with much discretion
As off they ran, hand in hand
Such a pair of friends you never saw
On to adventure, bound to explore
From the tip of Maine to the Florida Keys
And on to England and France if you please
With a stop in Amsterdam and Italy too,
They even ate chocolate in Belgium, it’s true,
Then back to the States for a loud how-DE-doo.
The Weimaraner and the Shepherd ran and ran with grace and with ease
Laughing with joy, and an occasional sneeze.
Happy Seasons and May Holiday Lights Glow So Bright!
The duck and the pigeon met by chance
Stowed away on a boat to France
They hopped a truck parked at the dock
Then drove to Montmartre and on to Chartres
And while they journeyed to Par´e
They each told stories of their families.
Arriving in Paris, they leapt from the truck
The pigeon danced wildly with the waddling duck
What a funny sight these two birds were
Walking the streets, looking in stores
Seeing the dazzling wares galore.
“That hat would make a lovely present
To match my sister’s new-born pheasant
And for my mother I’ll get a pot
She loves to bake and cook a lot.”
“That’s great,” the pigeon did chime in
“My wife will like that shiny pin.
And for my brother I’ll get suspenders
And for my sister, a pair of book enders!”
So off the duck and pigeon strolled
From street to street and boulevard
Admiring everything in sight,
They did this long into the night.
The happy pair had a grand old time
They visited the countryside again and again
To see where grapes were grown and then
Where Van Gogh painted and even Cezanne
Before returning to Par´e
To take a train to the ferry
Where their journey home would begin
Loaded with presents for family and friends.
I always forget that there is no dog waiting at home. Always. And surprised, each time, then saddened, as my expectations vanish, as the air, or the ghosts of dogs past. What is wrong with me?
He is not here, not the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that…but they all hang around, tempting me to believe in their existence. And why not? How comforting, when the wind howls and the rain hits the roof so hard you keep a lookout for leaks, yes, as if they were here, to protect, to comfort. Each time, each and every time, I steep myself in delusions of comfort, safety, blissful ignorance, when there is none.
After the realization…
So you enter your house, put down your keys, head to the stereo, select a jazz CD, get a drink. Does it matter it’s only 2pm? No. Time and wine are independent of each other. Each time you indulge is a new experiment. The first drink you had when the bottle was brought home was sufficient. The second day, also, one drink was sufficient. After that it increased. Two on the third day, three on the fourth day. Today is the seventh day. Today I believe I have lost all hope of maintaining anything resembling a reasonable intake. Today I am about to finish my third glass. Today I have discarded caring, lost all empathy for myself, lost all reasonable connection to the outside. Today, this moment, I am going downstairs to refill my glass.
Heaven help me.
On the way to Mount Snowdon
I met a Slate Quarry.
Though not the one to err
Yet I found deep thought
In the passing of memory
Far under a tree
in the trolley garage.
Then as we retreat
you may vent, as you please–
But not to neglect,
to Canada we photo
And while Easy does it,
He’s my favorite by far!
But do not ignore
Doggystyle, yes, there’s more–
Thundering Herd, not absurd;
And we speak of adopting a little bit more!
So here’s to my minions–
In them I do reckon, with Brevity, tis true,
A soul’s walk will do,
So splash a little paint–
my words shall remain
with Margo’s Notebook,
and Sage’s misadventures
a source of real pride,
at night by my side–
Love those dogs, I confess,
Can’t get enough of you, I guess!
It should so please me, if you would just see,
My newest companion–
It’s Zack, he flies free!
I’m sure you must know
I’m never this late
I’m usually asleep–
I live in the woods
With nary a peep
From fish or from fowl
Though they usually don’t howl
Like the coyotes do
Or the resident screech owls
That lurk very near
Yet rarely appear.
So I’ll turn off the lights
And tumble to bed
I’ll say my good nights
And sleep pretty tight
Till the mice start to party
At 4 in the dark
And I pull up the covers
And wait for daylight!
I turn and he is not here
I stumble time, time and again, the memory jolts me awake
He is not here.
So why I, in pain, do I return home?
Is the bother of living worthwhile?
Cannot you see that all is misplaced?
If not for him, then why?
Myself, I am obscure, irrelevant.
Contributions to the face of man escape the scribe’s pen
Will time erase the pointlessness of days passed in dreary acquiescence?
Pain dulled by daily drink
Drunk by noon-day light
Slumbering till morning light
Pretending that day is night.
Why is existence so perverse that life cannot itself erase
stupidity of man’s footfalls
that deemed by others are acquired of gifts and glories
And go beyond the grave
Imbued by all to be the virgin’s gift of glory everlasting?
Wronged, wronged, forever wronged!
Downed, screaming wronged!
Break my soul that I should live beyond this day, this time
Knowing misery creeping through life’s decay
of mind and spirit. Of rot and putrification.
Take kindly or not at all
In this, in that
Your mind it would collapse
But for the curtain drawn and closed
The daily play that would unfold
Is shuttered under hasp.