Not my Dog

“Cats rule, dogs drool.” Ain’t that the truth! 
Gobs of slobber hanging at the ready so that
with a mere shake of the head they become blobby
missiles of slime slinging through the air
to attach to the nearest person or food or furniture.

But not my dog.
Oh there may be the occasional teeny tiny droplet
of saliva as he sits patiently waiting for a treat
but a simple dab of the floor cleans it right up and for
anything more problematic he uses the handkerchief
he always carries in his pocket.

Cats sneeze, dogs have fleas
and ticks and intestinal worms and
we won’t even go into the host of gross
and despicable things they pick up from rolling
on the ground just before coming into the house and
jumping on the couch to use it as their
personal clean up towel but really they're
just grinding the grunge deeper into their fur.

But not my dog.
Bugs are naturally repelled by the aura of cleanness
that encircles him like a shield that even the most
tenacious insect cannot penetrate and his fur is like
teflon so if he encounter any foreign matter it slides right
off him and when he enters the house he wipes his
feet carefully on the door mat and politely asks if he is
adequately presentable before venturing inside.

Cats blink, dogs stink.
Boy do they! Imagine a grungy gym bag that has been
sitting in a locker with a load of sweat-laden clothing
and then that gym bag falls into a ditch full of putrid
standing water and then is dragged across a not-so-well
picked up dog park and then is left in a moldy shed
to marinate for weeks and that’s how dogs smell.

But not my dog.
He smells like a freshly washed linen sheet just pulled from
the outdoor clothesline of a country cottage except when he is
wet and then he smells like a freshly washed linen sheet that
has been left out on the clothesline during a brief
springtime rain shower.

Cats purr, dogs shed fur
in great quantities flying everywhere to land on clothing
and furniture and into food dishes and drinking glasses
and if you are wearing black it will come from a white dog
and if you’re wearing white it will be a brown or black dog
that blasts you like a porcupine releasing its quills.

But not my dog.
Oh I find the occasional strand of fur in the bathroom sink
after he has finished with his morning ablutions of tooth brushing
and face washing and running a brush through his ringlets of hair
and it is so pretty with a sheen like fine tinsel that I just
leave it there to enliven the otherwise dull bathroom decor.

And so now you can understand why I am a confirmed
cat person and would never ever even consider
owning a canine – except, of course – my dog.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Eight prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: In your poem for today, use a simple phrase repeatedly, and then make statements that invert or contradict that phrase.

Bird Speak

Day 23 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) 

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem that focuses on birdsong. I wrote about birds, but not songbirds. Oh, well. Here ’tis:

Bird Speak

Scrub-jay squawks accusingly at me
from atop my backyard fence.
What offence I may have committed,
I do not know, but he’s got that
“you know what you did” tone.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

Always a tricky situation. Do you
try to guess, and risk confessing to something
they didn’t even know you'd done? Do you
ask forgiveness, even though you don’t know for what?
Am I overthinking the meaning of this jay’s
strident vocalizations?

My dog Chules joins me on the deck, and the scrub jay
aims his admonishments at the pup.
Now I know he’s just making stuff up.
Chules is a good boy, and – while he’s been known to
chase some wildlife now and again –
he always gives them a good head start
lest he actually catch something.

Rather abruptly, scrub jay zips his beak, and
flits up into the canopy of the black walnut tree.
A large black crow swoops over my rooftop
and lands on the fence, inches from where the
jay had been holding court moments ago.
With one loud caw, he announces: there’s
a new corvid in town. I don’t see a badge,
but I won’t argue.

Chules and I are forgiven our sins, so long as
we don’t try to pull any of that crap on the crow.
Mind you, crow has no better idea of
our transgressions than Chules and I do.
We agree to his terms nonetheless.

Chules is tempted to run at the crow and scare him off the fence,
but thinks better of it when he remembers being previously
dive-bombed by said bird for just such behavior.
I go back to pulling weeds, and the scrub jay… well,
we likely won’t hear much from him for a while.

Special Delivery

Day 15 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) 

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a six-line poem that has these qualities: informed by repetition, simple language, and expressing enthusiasm. And so…

Special Delivery

It’s coming! It’s coming! It’s coming! 
I heard it in my sleep! Two streets down.
Do you hear it now? Come outside!
I can’t see it, but I’ll bark my head off anyway, and
jump and paw at the fence, because it's coming: the day I
finally break outta here and catch that mail truck!

Groundhogs and Shadows

I did not see a groundhog yesterday, shadowed or otherwise. Nor did I see my own shadow. I stayed inside, shying from the cold and wind and rain. 

My doggo, on the other hand, made several forays around the fenced yard, but did not report back on what critters or what shadows he may have encountered. He usually plays things close to his vest that way. A pup of many barks, but few words.

More winter, or early spring? I must wait and see. 

earliest of blooms
dandelions tucked beneath
unmown grass shadows

dVerse Haibun Monday prompt: Groundhog’s Day

Bird Talk

Day Two NaPoWriMo prompt: Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on a word featured in a tweet from Haggard Hawks, an account devoted to obscure and interesting English words. 

I used the tweet pictured below, which gave the words for the sounds certain birds make.


Herewith, my poem:

Oh, Dr. Seuss, you silly goose,

you loved to glacitate.

You wrote that owls go hoo hoo hoo.

In truth, they cucubate.

Your nonsense rhymes, those made-up words,

a lazy way to write.

So many real words just as fun,

and downright erudite.

A rooster doesn’t “cock-a-doodle do”

when he cucuriates.

And the hen’s response might well be “cluck,”

but — to rhyme — she glocidates.

Toward “wockets in pockets” I hold no grudge,

but to my ear, it grates;

like the striddly stry of a peacock’s cry

when it so poopity pupillates.

Just One

For Cee’s Black and White photo Challenge (CBWC): just one of anything.

I thought I heard a hawk of some sort the other day, so I stepped out on the deck to look for it. This squirrel was balled up on a nearby branch, maybe trying to make himself invisible to the bird of prey.

The bird that was making all the ruckus finally flew to the same tree, but it wasn’t a hawk at all. I’m thinking it was one of those tricky fellows that can mimic other bird calls. Good enough to fool both the squirrel and me!

Dogs Make Me Laugh

Bloganuary prompt: What makes you laugh?

dog day1
“I’m really sorry I did it. Really, really sorry. Um… which ‘it’ did you discover?”

dog day2
“I don’t know why the cat dug up the water sprinkler, but I scared him away just before you got here.”

stylin4

stylin1

greener

partners2
“Hmmm. Fruity, black currant, vanilla, buttery… I’d say cab-sauvignon aged in oak.”
“I’d say cherry Pop Tart.”

partners3
“Are you sure, brown dog? Bark if I see ANYTHING at all on the street, and twice as loud if I see NOTHING at all?”