Archive for March, 2011|Monthly archive page

Canine Poetry

In Looking for friends, Loud barks on March 27, 2011 at 8:18 am

I turn the fence into blurring crosshatches

Until a bird sings, sound floating

Off the swish of steady flapping.

I slow each step, an easing of paws

On stiff brown grass,

Wishing for –

I raise my head

As the lifting takes away –

In my silent approach

I could chase air things

Get them grounded –

But off I go again,

As if a ship sailing circles

Enclosing possibilities

Until the next bird comes along,

Hope in its wings.

One-Girl Dog

In Chasing smells, Reunited again!, Two homes on March 20, 2011 at 3:40 am

I had the best two weeks, spending my days running around the backyard, checking for the feral cats that live under an outbuilding and researching the sources of smells that crisscross the grass.

Two weeks ago, Shelley’s Dad took me to his house. For what reason, I do not know. Her brother and his girlfriend came on Friday night, and I played with them and it was all fun and games.

On Saturday after Shelley got off of work, she drove here and I heard her car pull up. I ran circles around the yard, full of glee. I could hardly sit still when Shelley tried to pet me.

With her back, I wanted to sleep with her, though I had lots of options: her dad, her brother or her brother’s girlfriend. But Shelley is my official sleep buddy, so I chose her. I’ve been following her around just to make sure she doesn’t leave. If she does, she better take me with her. Her dad is very fun, but he is her dad, not my dad.

Plus, I’m a one-girl dog, and Shelley’s my girl. I guess it’s called doggie love or a puppy crush, or whatnot.

Right now as Shelley types up our blogs, I’m running around the yard, happy that I have her here watching, following me around with her words.

Back to Dad’s House

In A keen barker, Back yard princess, Chasing smells, My Dad, My new home on March 13, 2011 at 5:27 am

I’m at Shelley’s dad’s house. I guess I’m okay with that, because I’ve been here before and consider it to be another one of my places. Plus, it has the best yard, and that’s what I checked out first.

Okay, so before Shelley’s dad took me home, she gave me a really long hug and kissed me a thousand times on the top of my head. She said, “I’ll miss you. See you in two weeks.”

How long is two weeks?

And why would she let me go?

Okay, so in my backyard, I ran around the perimeter of the fence, getting reacquainted with the smells, and checked under the old outbuilding for the feral cats that I wanted to befriend. But they weren’t there. Inside, I jumped on my window ledge and enjoyed the sun and watched for people and cars, barking whenever I heard or saw anything.

Not too exciting, but those are my dog routines at Shelley’s dad’s house.

Shelley called twice to check up on me. I overheard on her dad’s end, “Yes, your darling is fine. She settled right in, and she’s eating fine …”

Her dad told Shelley about how I’m playing my old games, such as run around the couch, ball chase and tug-of-war, but I’m not doing the thing where I lie on my back and use my paws to paddle a ball in the air. He said I look cute doing that, but I forgot about the game. Shelley has hard-wood floors in her apartment, not good for anything but running. If I get down low, I prefer her bed, the couch or any soft place where I can land.

I guess I’m hanging my hat here for awhile, as you humans like to say. But as I put it, I’ve got my toys here and my Kong. This is where I like to put up my paws.

Dog Frustrations

In Center of attention, Going on walks, Inclusion, My stuffed toys, What's important on March 6, 2011 at 9:00 am

A lot of my stuffed toys have squeakies in them, and I love to grab them, give them a shake and bite on the squeaker. The chirp, chirp noise is the coolest sound I’ve ever heard. I particularly like teddy bears that are my size, as if they are friends that I can roll around with, pounce on and give a lick.

Shelley’s mom let me borrow her white stuffed dog that has a barker in it, while we played on the couch. Shelley kept pressing the barker, and then I tried, but I couldn’t find it. The barkers in my toys are in the head, the front paws or, in the case of my duckie, in the chest. I got mad, and didn’t want to have anything to do with the stuffed dog.

—Yes, my little Zoey walked to the end of the couch, turned her back on us and stared at the wall. My mom, who I was visiting last weekend, said, “Look, she’s ignoring her toy.” I don’t know if dogs experience anger, but she certainly had experienced frustration and wanted to get away from the source of her angst. The squeakie, I couldn’t tell her, is in the front elbow.

Um, Shelley, this is my blog! Why are you interrupting my blog when you have your own blog? I don’t think that’s fair. My challenge for you next week is to take me to the coffee shop every day, on two walks a day and anywhere else I can meet as many people as is dog-anly possible.