Down with the Dawg!

It’s taken me awhile to learn that if I’m gonna offer the gift of my being, it means offering the fullness of the moment we are in!

What’s changed now is that much more of the time, I mean I’m a long way from being cooked, but much more of the time, when I am ‘here,’ this is it, I am here, and when I’m not here, I’m not here. It’s interesting how when you give another human being, your family, or your business, the fullness of your being at any moment, a little is enough; while when you give them half of it, because you’re time binding with your mind, there’s never enough. You begin to hear the secret, that being fully in the present moment is the greatest gift you can give to each situation. #Ram Dass

Tomorrow from the Trees

Fast and current the muddied water

a flutter by,

a brown cardinal,

singing, heroically from a petrified tree.

Tomorrow will not be there for me.

Tomorrow will not be there for me.

In the dance of a well tuned song,

the grackle,

the squirrel,

in fury,

sing,

Tomorrow will not be here for me.

Tomorrow I will not sing to thee.

Chances Are

Chances are ’cause I wear a silly grin
The moment you come into view
Chances are you think that I’m in love with you

The male gator, nicknamed ‘Chance the Snapper,’ was first spotted in the Humboldt Park lagoon about a week ago. After local enthusiasts tried and failed to trap the reptile, Frank Robb arrived from St. Augustine on Sunday. By early Tuesday, he had caught the 5 foot 3 inch animal using something that even cartoon alligators know to avoid: a fishing pole.

Ivory is the Coast

How is to be different…more than just an accolade?

A prototype to the wants in needs of those willing to place us on bended knee.

Who, black, female, yellow, brown or in differential love….

Who among us fall for the cross on the wall…

all awaiting the perfect sign…on the perfect stall.

Alabaster is the night that shines on Iron clad…ivory coasts.

The look of the lookers seeking some sight all from beaches that offer wings with no kite.

I Struggle!

I found this article on depression that is absolutely…right on! I struggle with generalized anxiety disorder. I struggle with OCD. I struggle with severe arthritis. I struggle!

Plain and simple, we, 90 percent of us…struggle. And the more open and honest we are with our ‘recovery’ process…the better we are understood!

When I’m squinting because “my contacts are bothering me,” I’m truly holding back the tears that could burst out at any moment. If you’re going to invoke tears, please have your shoulder ready for me to cry on. I don’t cry in front of people – if I cry in front of you, I’m truly hurting and you are trusted beyond reason.

When I ask you to reassure me of the truth I already know, I am struggling to distinguish between the truth and the lies in my head – I just need another voice to interrupt the internal dialogue and confirm what is the truth. I’m not stupid or wanting reassurance out of attention-seeking motivations. Genuinely, I need another voice to confirm the rationales I typically hold as true. I struggle to maintain these during rough episodes.

When I say I’m always sad, that doesn’t mean I’m never happy – it just means there is always an underlying blanket of angst beneath everything. No matter what the circumstances. Life could be beautiful and I still struggle with that cloud of depression. There are happy moments. There are sad moments. There are exciting moments. But – at the end of the day, I have to fight the wave of hopelessness and turmoil that attempts to engulf me.

When I say “I’m trying,” I am saying I am doing all I can to get better. I am doing every single thing I can. It’s a painful process and chronic condition. It’s not perfect. I am working toward progress. Taking medicine is a scary step – side effects can be awful. Finding a medicine that works can be even scarier. Counseling can be awkward. Finding the right counselor can be even more awkward. Trying not to cause financial stress while seeking medical and psychological relief is near impossible. Trying to maintain relationships that last during all of this is difficult. I am wholeheartedly trying. Please don’t underestimate that.

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I don’t want to be this way. I want to be healed. I want my mind to be cleared. This thorn in my flesh is too much to handle most days. This thorn has me unappealing to many for friendship or romance. And that’s OK – just know I am not even slightly OK with not being OK. I recognize this is the state I am in and I have been fighting against it every day. I struggle daily – and it is not because I haven’t attempted to shine a light on this darkness.

Editor’s note: Please see a doctor before starting or stopping a medication.

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Unsplash photo via María Victoria Heredia Reyes.

Adopt, Adopt, Adopt!

  • Adopting a pet saves a life. Not only four legged lives but your own life. Let’s face it having a furry friend in our lives makes us nicer, altruistic…persons.
  • Pets are great for photo bombs.
  • Pets allow for us to be less self absorbed. Never mind, with the love of a good pet…humans do well psychologically. Which in turn, should cut down on therapy sessions and less Xanax.
  • You are never alone with an adopted dog. You are always alone, minus brief moments, with an adopted cat. Still you take what you can get.
  • Adoption is not only the ‘in’ thing to do. You will be the envy of all your hip friends…and, they in turn will want to adopt.
  • There are inhumane breeders out there totting ‘pedigrees.’ Such places are commonly known as, puppy mills. Puppy mills stack crate upon crate with puppies. These crates typically are not cleaned and the animals fight for survival and food. Just think of the good karma and positive energy you will receive by giving back to your local community.

I grew up with my parent’s pedigrees, Airedales, from private breeders that wanted a boat load of money. And, though I appreciate having always had a four legged friend around…these dogs had many medical and psychological issues. I loved each and every childhood pet. Yet, when I became an adult and managed an animal shelter….I never looked back to ‘buying’ a pet. Their soulful, earnest look, can never be replaced with money.

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. –Anatole France

A Question for Nature

I wonder what nature sees of me…when pretending not to be?

Does she see me as a threat to her luminosity?

Do the robins nest further up a shady pine?

Is my manner of awe and unsure footing a hindrance to her placating design?

As my oar settles into her complacently, mysterious, waters…does she sense that my intentions…are unkind?

One foot after another, I go back to her response.

The whistle through broken limbs and the frigteningly, gothic music that descends.

If there be admiration, it is one sided.

In nature’s woods…it is just pretend.

A Very Short Song Poem by Dorothy Parker

Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.

Love is for unlucky folk,
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.

Lady, lady, never start
Conversation toward your heart

Skinny Dips

The road it took to get here,

had been some spare change on the ground.

An unlucky penny head side down.

A permanent ride behind a wheel.

The further back the seat?

The less I would feel.

A field of ragweed.

An all it sheds.

Fueling the dander in my head.

Visions of vivid lovers…telling me,

Learn differently then the others.

The road it took to get here.

Bohemian quips.

Family ties.

Sinking an already sunken ship.

The road it took to get here.

Began with sharp curves…skinny dips.

The road it took to get here.

Had been man-made…

No matter the seat in which I sit.

Therefore, it will never be a perfect fit.

Death and Dying

The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Handles of Freedom

A fray, a strand, a clinging leaf, a handle.

What the cost of freedom?

Do I hang to all the is given to me, as though, it were my last breath?

Do I become everything expected of me?

Though it makes my movement less.

Years before my age, the distance of choice, further and further out of reach.

I am as free today…as I will ever be.

I dangle from fresh, baby pine.

I spin my web as I choose.

I do not need to enter the roads in which I have been led.

Abiding Grace

Grace, a dark horse.

A walk, purposeful, in the spilling rain.

A collection of wild ocean roses from a strangeland.

Eye candy for the laden soul.

Dignity singing nature’s song from the bottom of a deep well.

I cannot recall when I knew you…well.

The visions of ‘could be’ tarry with the stories I cannot tell.

Grace, a dark horse in which my song stands still.

My Dear Drew

I found Dear Drew in a book of Lovely Bones.

A little note from someone to someone else.

A small parched card about not wanting to be alone.

With the challenges of late…

getting old

being less bold

omitting love items that were once owned but now gone.

I found Dear Drew in a book of Lovely Bones.

It told me…

Every morning is a burst of sunshine on my heart to see you next to me.

Your beautiful eyes, the last thing I see at night-fills me with perfect peace.

The touch of your skin.

The smell of your neck.

The taste of your lips.

The feel of your hugs:

Make my throat catch, my breath stops for a moment of recognition.

And, pure happiness sets in.

Thank you for how wonderful you have been.

Homeless Country

Though my travels into the woods are sometimes limited. They are not limited to small country…no homelessness. Though I wander unto roads less traveled. Some have traveled there before me. Some are just seeking refuge from an uncaring world.

Homeless in the Woods

Poverty of thought? Believing we are more than just an arm’s length away from being homeless.


A somber reality in the second most forested state
Abraham Ames June 23, 2019
Land ConservationVolunteers
Homeless campsite in the woods in Concord
Conservation meets a harsh reality of modern society with the discovery of a homeless campsite in the woods in Concord. Abraham Ames/Forest Society Photo.
One thing I love about working for the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests (Forest Society) is the variety of situations that I encounter. As a conservation easement steward, I spend a lot of time in the woods or behind a computer screen, but I never know what to expect. It’s great when a problem comes along with a nice clear answer, but it often falls somewhere between black and white.

One issue I didn’t expect to engage with as a conservationist is homelessness. It might seem like a big city problem, but it’s right here in small-town New Hampshire. I’ve been surprised at what’s tucked away just out of sight.

My job as a steward takes me to many such places that the Forest Society conserves on behalf of private landowners who voluntarily give up certain rights to develop their land. In order to ensure their fields or forests remain protected as open space, landowners work with land trusts like the Forest Society who require stewards to monitor the lands and document any misuse.

One property in particular is closer to your backyard than you might think — in the middle of Concord, but tucked away just enough to be tempting to someone looking for a discreet place to camp. It might be one thing if someone stayed for one night and practiced Leave No Trace, but the volume of trash I observed being left behind decidedly pushed this situation out of the gray and into a problem that needed solving.

For this conserved land, camping and trash dumping are considered violations of the conservation agreement between the private landowner and the Forest Society. At the request of the landowner, my co-workers and I arranged a volunteer work day to clean this area up and resolve the violation.

It’s easy to be unsympathetic when all you see is the mess that’s left behind. But it was not lost on us that this space was filling a societal need—one which people don’t want to see, much less acknowledge its magnitude. Our clean-up day would get us up close and personal with problems which are all too often swept under the carpet.

Half of what we cleaned up were things often dumped in places off the beaten path: beer cans, soaking wet sleeping bags, torn-up tarps and tents. Yet, the fresher campsites told a different story.

The first truly somber moment was at a site I’d found already abandoned just a few weeks before. In the time since, the tents’ contents had been scattered about. But these weren’t the personal effects you might expect. These items once belonged to a respectable young person. They were things that any young adult might stuff into a backpack — Twilight novels, art supplies, coloring books of ornate animals, Celtic knots, professional looking clothes, paperwork for a driver’s license, makeup and Burt’s Bees lip balm — all strewn about the forest floor and slowly becoming one with the leaf litter.

Each item was a trapping of a responsible, ordinary person. I could tell this hit home for more of my colleagues that day than just me.

“This is kind of depressing isn’t it?” I said.

“This is definitely depressing,” replied a volunteer helping out for the day.

Who was this person? What happened? Where are they now?

The mood changed. We’d gone there to clean up a piece of nature, but there we were, bagging up someone’s life. Any pragmatic apathy we’d brought with us was gone. Unfortunately, as we learned one bag at a time, this person’s situation was not unique.

A homeless campsite in the woods in Concord
New Hampshire is the second most forested state in the United States (behind Maine). Forests occupy 81%, or 4.8 million acres, of the state. Source: NH Division of Forests and Lands
The last campsite was different. It was neat, thoughtfully constructed, and comprised high-quality camping gear. Its occupants did not have the landowner’s permission to camp, and were in an area marked “No Trespassing,” but they were going out of their way to be respectful. It was a nice, family-sized tent with a baby stroller tucked away in front. They had an expensive portable propane heater and cat food dish with fresh kibble. They’d taken the time to bring along their snowshoes. People had been there that morning. Here again, it looked like they had had to vacate an apartment with all they could carry to find a new place to sleep.

Our “get it done” attitude made us want to start tearing it down, but the kibble and outdoor recreation equipment gave us pause. We were looking at all that was left of someone’s stuff, and they were coming back. I didn’t want to be responsible for throwing away all the earthly possessions of someone down on their luck, much less leave them with nowhere to stay that night.

After talking it over, everyone agreed. For all we knew, they were at work and would be coming “home” cold and tired. We decided to leave a note, telling them that we’d cleaned the area, and would give them a week to vacate on their own terms.

We wrapped up the rest of the trash and headed out of the woods. The volunteer crew parted ways after a job well done, and I stayed behind to leave a note on our camper’s tent. Perhaps it was lucky that I had to walk back to my car for pen and paper.

As I turned back, composing the note in my head (“Which is friendlier: ‘Hi’ or ‘Hello’?”), I saw what looked like two bedraggled Appalachian Trail hikers pass by. I held back a moment and tried not to be obvious that I was watching. They took the turn toward where we’d been working, and then disappeared down the trail we’d just cleaned out.

“OK, so this is good, right?” I thought as I considered my options. They had to be talked to, but it was too late for a nice anonymous note. What is the risk here? I didn’t think I’d be in danger, but I also wasn’t enthusiastic about giving these people an eviction notice—perhaps their second in a short time.

This was happening in the forest, but it was not my world. I called the police to see if there was anyone nearby and to get some advice. They strongly suggested that I hang tight and let them handle the confrontation. Officers arrived within a few minutes, and they apparently have the routine down. I was glad to see they were disinterested in hassling these people in any way. I didn’t want to feel responsible for any further misfortune in their lives.

They had a nice talk. They’d signed a lease and were moving into an apartment on Monday. They were very thankful that we hadn’t dismantled and bagged what was left of their lives. The police were glad that we were giving them time to relocate.

I breathed a sigh of relief. We’d made the right choice, to leave this violation be. I’ll have to go back and check on it soon. But I hope to find a nice, neat, empty space that people used for a short while to get their lives back on track.

.

A homeless campsite in the woods in Concord

Post Script: I visited the area a week later, glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone took notice. All evidence that they had been there was gone. Our campers clearly understood the tenets of Leave No Trace.

I’m grateful for the respect they showed for this land.

https://forestsociety.org/staff/abraham-ames

You Are My Shade

In the dancing shade of the morning pines
I go searching for her spirit.
Year upon years, this is my choice, by design.
Year upon years, full knowing her shine is something I will never find.

In the oddest of manner, her actions remind me of mother and her nature.
How an awkward summer breeze can bring the charm of relief.
With her hands flat against a wall,
cynically…always leery of the fall.

It is in her purposeful silence that she makes the greatest remark of all.
Arms wide open, her innocence so green.
Having sustained an ocean of gray…
Seemingly born to jump the waves.

These morning thoughts cannot be introduced to anyone but myself.
It is in her rare laugh that I, too, shine.
I am weathered with its glow.
Such as the unavoidable seasons.
In her earthy silent remarks…it is there I find reason.

Crash Into You

Of course, there are moments when you are missed.

Flickering, shuttering, moments…when I see you in the lines upon my face.

Had you held a more sturdy hand…I would have worn less leather…more lace.

I beg for you now, as I had many years before.

The offering of ‘us.’

The magic of father and daughter and the confines of a normal culture.

Morals and majority could never have lived in our home, sweet, home.

Knives and threats were the beliefs in which WE all felt sure…and unsure.

These heroic days that come to pass…feed on every ounce I own with a fervent sign telling all, do not trespass.

To the living and the not so…just another day in which I hope to not crash.

Whether the Weather

Whether not the willow

the fiddler

or,

the fall.

Whether within reach of…

the library

the cross in the hall

or

the papers

that paper the wall.

Either a big city under heaven’s hood.

Or,

a shack in the woods.

Either kind-hearted

or,

prone to damnation.

Whether it is unimportant to

you

or,

meaningful to

me.

Weather is not what it

used to

BE.

Kindness and Dignity

For what it is worth

I see you when I climb the stairs a midst stark twilight.

Your dauntless task given unto an endless flight.

A vision of tolerance and safety.

Kindness and dignity.

A shimmering arc focused on what is here.

A dark side to what is not there.

Can you fix me?

Whiling the while…

cradling ‘of unknown origins’…above the street?

Rest assured I’ve cleaned hell.

It left me in a

‘poor me’ spell.

Days, months, years…

stuck in the glare.

Rummaging in the attic…

drunk and blind…

looking for a purpose, a meaning, maybe a sign.

Now, feral moon, as time becomes,

a whimper and a whim…

As life goes bump in the night…

as it often will.

The dark shadows, the bolted attic door, the childish folk lore’s…

beg the question, once more.

What is IT out there?

One step down from the top of the stair?

IT used to be the monsters sight unseen.

Sometimes, I know, as I do now,

IT is only in a dream.

Don’t Panic

To me…there is the possibility of

fear…

fear of what is known

fear of the unknown.

To me…there is the possibility of…

strange thoughts submerged in routine.

Always an angst devil looking over my shoulder…misinterpreting what I mean.

A heart so full it reaches into the throat.

Tranquility resides nearby…but never takes off her coat.

Panic, panic, say what?

Don’t panic, don’t panic…

the only words that I can breathe.

I look inward to a wild rose bush with thorns…

the beauty does not relieve.

I really, really, really, like you!

When I say it’s you I like, I’m talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war, and justice that proves more powerful than greed. ##Mr. Rogers

Bill’s Poem

His eyes…placid and dauntingly, deep.

His mold…a bit of chubby rounded with strange feet.

He looks to me as being…the one.

Both of us know…the one chance in hell…happened out on the street.

He and I just part of a peaceful retreat.

Bill knows with reserved, self preservation, as far a human goes…I am not inclined to mystique.

I will bow down again, again and again, to the keyboard that soothes my song.

I will crouch even lower to feel that I belong.

Belong to Bill’s world…full of thought and no regret.

And, cat friends I have not yet to meet.

What is Luck Anyway?

Who’s luck is it anyway?

Mine or yours…or, does it really matter?

Truth be told…it is all speculation,

living in the middle with all its,

pomp and circumstances and…

trepidation.

I hear the echo of your words,

“it all seems a little shaky!”

Perhaps, it is the lack of oxygen.

The thinning of the air.

The mocking of the birds.

That makes that statement seem…more or less absurd.

Swimming

Darkness is a local swimming hole

I glide in and out of it everyday.

Delving about in my art…

exposing bits and pieces of my soul.

And, I flounder in my anger…when I do so.

I account for mistakes like lily pads that have gone astray.

I bargain with hopes and dreams…as though they were in rhythm with the waves.

A dance routine shown to less than a handful.

As stark New Hampshire waters pillage in my depth…I know I must not standstill.

Such A Night

Rest In Musical Peace

… over the course of a remarkable life and career, he evolved. From addiction to three decades of sobriety. From sordid escapades as a dealer and pimp to Disney soundtracks and the model for sleepy-eyed, jive-talking Muppet musician Dr. Teeth. From hometown outcast to one of its most outspoken advocates and beloved characters.
read more at:https://www.theadvocate.com/new_orleans

PG Insults

My favorite insult minus the ‘swear’…

When was the last time you had sex?

Usually this offered up to an elderly lesbian wearing peds with kittens on them…directing traffic during the fourth of July parade in Provincetown.

Some other ‘digs’ without the potty mouth?

Bless Your Heart – given when someone tries to dress out of their age group

I have neither the time or the crayons to explain this to you

Out that many sperm…you won?

You’re like god spilled a person

You’re a gray sprinkle in the rainbow

You dress like you came from a donation pile

And, my personal favorite…maybe you’d have a better chance with the heterosexuals!

the Rabbit Died!

Little by little our rights are being exported to other countries. Countries we, as Americans, touted as, backwater, backwoods and backwards. Pro Choice? Pro Life? Pro…Do the Next Right Thing…is ebbing away.

So, you take a woman’s right to choose away? So, you take gay rights away? So, you take the environment away? Bit by bit, little pieces of Me/US gone!

Unwarranted Wiretapping

Detention without Provocation

Surveillance Society (  a rapid expansion of data collection, storage, tracking, and mining)

I am not prepping for ‘doomsday’ but…I am concerned about the state of living in America.

https://www.aclu.org/
https://www.aclu.org/blog/privacy-technology/medical-and-genetic-privacy/who-controls-our-genes-congress-deciding-right

Something About Mary

As ravished as the house had been, being within made me feel less broken.

The overgrown grass, sporadic dead spots on the lawn…it spoke to me of being alone with my thoughts.

Maiden Mary would greet me with her loose ways.

Twisted as she was, she encouraged me to come out of the big book and play.

Years strolled pass and Mary stayed, solidified to those that pray.

And, though she had wished me to always be well. Through her painted on tears…I could tell,

Mary had been living in a personal hell.

Could it have been that we both had were under a broken spell?

I See Dead People

I have a cat that should have been an extra in ‘the Sixth Sense.’ She runs through the house on a daily basis, darting from shadow to shadow. Jumping at light beams that dance on the ceiling. And, once, she alerted me, by ducking down, low to the ground like a POW…to the fact that mirror-ball’s have mystical powers.

Therefore, the following, not necessarily the news, story…does not surprise me.

Have you ever felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up? Or maybe felt a strong presence near you? Your pet may feel and even see the same thing. As we’ve discovered, cats have very powerful eyesight. They can see in low lighting thanks, feline’s possessing six to eight times as many light-sensing rods as humans.

Recall a time when you noticed your cat staring tensely towards a seemingly empty space or spending a suspicious amount of time around one particular spot in the house.

It’s likely that your cat is sensitive to a concentrated amount of negative energy and is attempting to protect you and your home from possible infiltration by evil spirits and ghosts.

This is because cats bear a uniquely powerful aura, also known as an astral force, that works to repel negative energy.

It is possible that this negative energy remains left over from some traumatic experience in the past before you came to live in the home, or the entity could come from outside the home and try to force its way in.

The cat serves as a valuable line of defense for you and your loved ones by attempting to trap the evil spirit in its powerful energy field and lead it out of the house.

Be sure not to disturb your cat if you notice that it is purposefully wandering around your house.

Cats are skilled at discerning the intentions of astral entities and could be following some source of negative energy in the attempt to ambush it and remove it from your immediate environment if it senses a threatening aura.

My suggestion? Next time you are looking to rent a new apartment or perhaps, buy a new home…release the pussy!

Small Pleasures

Agriculture is our wisest pursuit, because it will in the end contribute most to real wealth, good morals, and happiness…

Diggin in the dirt, awash in green carpet, tryin to find where I belong.

It is clear, through the snorts and whistles, I am not a contender.

Just a sloppy pretender!

And, if I stand very still, scatterings of flies thwart my will.

Diggin in the dirt to find where I belong.

Bathing in tranquility,

basking in my own glow.

Silly swine cannot be wrong.

Moving the earth, as they do, in such a modest fashion.

Dog’s Playlist

People let me tell you ’bout my best friend
He’s a warm hearted person who’ll love me ’til the end
People let me tell you bout my best friend
He’s a one boy cuddly toy, my up, my down, my pride and joy

Fancy Kisses

If I had made this bed alone

There would be no scent of baby powder and spice.

There would be no looking both ways.

I would not have learned to roll the dice…twice.

If I had made this house, cedar and stain, log cabin frame, without its dame…I would still be dwelling in discord’s refrain.

In the morning, between the static and the reprieve, when it is easy to not believe…I ponder such vacant thoughts.

After all you have made me a vagabond to your ways.

Through routine I am grounded in the games we play.

Had I made this bed alone

pillows, solitary and too crisp.

I would have never fancied your kiss.

Humping!

A day at the dog park or rural trail can often poise a problem when encountering others with your dog/dogs:

Why does my dog hump? And, how can I get him to knock it the fuck off?

  • Like play fighting, play humping can be a completely normal and acceptable behavior between two dogs as long as it doesn’t upset one of the dogs. Some dogs play hump each other back and forth, and everyone is fine with it. Some dogs simply enjoy humping. Make sure to break it up if one of the dogs seems annoyed by the humping. Training may be useful in decreasing the frequency and intensity of play humping.
  • Sometimes it’s one intact dog humping a spayed or neutered dog. Females hump too, and it may or may not be sexual in nature. When a dog humps objects or people, it might be a form of masturbation. Having your dog neutered or spayed may help with the problem, but be aware that dogs may develop the habit of humping before they’re altered and continue it afterward.
  • Usually, however, dogs aren’t emulating mating behavior when they hump. Nonsexual arousal is more likely to provoke a dog to hump. It’s just a way for the dog to burn off energy or relieve stress. Some dogs bark, some run or jump, and others hump. This is normal for many dogs. If the behavior is frequent, training may help by redirecting your dog to another outlet for its excess energy.
  • Humping could be a sign of a urinary tract infection.
  • Neuter, neuter, neuter! This is a given! We are a lesbian household. Thus, every male has had a pediatric spay.
  • Catch the little shit in the act and shout, stop, down! Behave like the distressed and psychotic parent you are.

**Like that ever works

There are many embarrassing things I do…that I’m sure my dogs, secretly, abhor. Such as, calling them ‘sweetie’ in front of their friends at the dog park. Or, kissing them on the head in public.

My dogs hump! That’s right, I am the proud owner of humpy dogs. And, my own research explains exactly why dogs hump. Hump each other. Hump me. Hump other dogs. Hump strangers. Hump cows.

Dogs hump to get back at us, their so called, best friends.

http://www.aspca.org/pet-care/general-pet-care/low-cost-spayneuter-programs

Lilac by the Barn

I am but a bystander who has praised words of woe and purity. And, I have tried tampering at the landscape! And, I am unwilling to give up on a valiant fight.

These Lilacs that espouse only once a year. These Periwinkles of cascading yearly trials. These Lavenders, offspring to the garish New Hampshire late winter weather, confuse and excite all the same.

I wish to only hold these thoughts but once a year. As a Lilac comes slowly, leaves quickly. Its romance lingers on aesthetics and colorful fear.

Plotting and potting, the toil, I say this quickly. For with earnest steps the springtime will go.

Learn to breathe again…

and…

never hold love against the old stables and fresher flora.

In the depths of all vanity intertwined, such as, vines to a tree…

I promise to embrace your beauty as fleeting as it may be.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Why Do Cats Bite?

Here are the scientific reasons:

  • they are in pain
  • the are into aggressive play
  • defense and offense
  • love bites and petting

Now those are some obscure scientist’s life long research thoughts. Research done with data, one on one observation and number crunching. All of which is just wonderful and nice. However, these scientists never owned a cat and does not wish to add personal thoughts.

I am not a scientist. I went to a liberal arts college. I have owned cats (or, I should say, they have owned me) for many, many, years. Here are my thoughts on why kittens and cats bite:

  • Cats bite us because we are intrusive.
  • Cats lash out at their one true love, the human, because the shitter is not immaculate.
  • Cats secretly sharpen their fangs at night…while we are asleep…for the simple reason…they want the upper hand.
  • Cats lash out when we poke the puppy ( a saying from my house of woes.)

Poking the puppy is a blanket term. To poke the puppy/cat/kitten…

The human witnesses their animal friend, sleeping, snoring, casually chasing a headless chipmunk. The human is so overwhelmed with the feline’s cuteness. So transfixed are the two legged buffoons. So in awe at the one and only chance to ‘spaz’ the cat out…the human lashes out…poking the cat in the belly.

Let us be honest here. Poking the puppy and/or cat is similar to Pavlov’s dog. A piece of sweetness is dangled in front of us. It is furry and purring and being the Cat god they are. Alas, the human will go back every time for a ‘poking’ because the untold results are just too adorable to pass up!

Local Girls

Forested farmland
Field of greens
A vision that sought me out while on a comforter of limes
And, with a poking elbow attack, I could tell that I had bothered the local girl
It would appear that my smokey indulgence went into overdrive.
Had not the ceiling opened up and the walls curled.
I would have considered the world flat…not circular.

I have had daffodil dust moments before.
But when I discuss this in plain sight…
This foreplay bothersome for local girls
and
I am banished from sight.

He Had Courage

There were many who went in huddled procession,
They knew not wither,
But, at any rate, success or calamity
Would attend all in equality.

There was one who sought a new road,
He went into direful thickets,
And ultimately he died thus, alone;
But they said he had courage.

Stephen Crane

My Analyst Told Me

Twisted/Annie Ross Annabelle Short / Wardell Gray

Mae West/Diane Arbus photographer

My analyst told me that I was…right out of my head.
The way he described it?
He said, I’d be better dead than live.
I didn’t listen to his jive! I knew all along that he was all wrong.
And, I knew that he thought I was crazy! But I’m not!
My analyst told me that I was right out of my head!
He said, I’d need treatment!

But I’m not that easily led!
He said, I was the type that was most inclined…
when out of his sight to be out of my mind!

And he thought I was nuts…no more ifs or ands or buts.
They say as a child, I appeared a little bit wild. With all my crazy ideas.
But I knew what was happening. I knew I was a genius.
What’s so strange when you know that you’re a wizard at three?
I knew that this was meant to be. Now I heard little children were supposed to sleep tight. That’s why I got into the vodka one night. My parents got frantic, didn’t know what to do!
But I saw some crazy scenes before I came to.
Now do you think I was crazy?
I may have been only three but I was swinging. They all laugh at angry young men. They all laugh at Edison. And also at Einstein.
So why should I feel sorry, If they just couldn’t understand?
The idiomatic logic that went on in my head.
I had a brain…it was insane.
Oh, they used to laugh at me when I refused to ride on all those double decker buses. All because there was no driver on the top.
My analyst told me that, I was right out of my head.

But I said, dear doctor, I think that it’s you instead.

Because I have got a thing that’s unique and new. To prove it I’ll have the last laugh on you! ‘Cause instead of one head I got two! And you know…two heads are better than one.

Diane Arbus/What I do



What to do with a 15 year old…18 pound, Cat

I sit at a keyboard with no letters.

I light a cigarette.

I stare at the venomous screen.

So much to say.

So little pushes through.

So far, I am in the…in-between.

Strong as my back is…built upon years of slaying dragons and their flies.

Far as my gaze can reach…daytime bats, the blue-jays, frolic and distort all that I wish to see.

And, of course, the pitter-patter of a fifteen year old, eighteen pound cat, he knows exactly where my mind is at.

He taunts me like a catholic mother.

Guilt ridden, I am side tracked…insight, will never just hover.

What a show to behold!

Therefore, I always embrace it.

For it is with certainty, recollections will fade…imagery will be less bold.

Of History and Hope by Miller Williams

We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.

But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.

Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.

All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit—it isn’t there yet—
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.

Organic Manicure

Earthbound melody.

Sifting thru the rust and the budding weeds.

This is the place to be when wonder begins to seed.

Rummaging, romping, romantics of the forest.

Decadent in their delivery.

Seeking clustered acorns

and

spurs of last year’s wood.

Never any thought to…rest assured.

Organic manner of giving the land a manicure.