the Middle Stooge

“I pack them up.  As if they have a choice!   Course, it has been sometime, since they have had no voice.  And, as always, 90’s Reggae, is the preferred noise.  

I have watched them grow.

They have watched me age.

There is never any wonder as to who is the wiser Sage.

It hasn’t been long.  Since we have saved each other from our perspective cage.

Trite as a, love song.

And, with paw’s crossed.

Gone to the dogs…

Is where I belong.

Unleashed and unplugged.

In my dog’s presence.

There is no minor chord.

Everything or nothing…

Needs to be done.

It is a wealth of knowledge.

We all receive.

The meaning of life.

Placed in the chase of a falling leaf.

To the dogs,

I am the middle stooge.

In a bout of frenzy.

A link in the chain.

There is unquestionable trust.  Their curiosity…I envy.

At the end of the day.  Just as countless times before.

We walk together.  Through that old familiar door.

With mud on our heels.  And, the smell of earth on our skin.

Only to await tomorrow.  Where we can begin our journey…Once again.”

Milling About and Mulling It Over

Milling about.

Mulling things over.

Not something I am known for.

But fortunate me.

I haven’t far to go to find basic reverie.

Fur lined logs.

One size, does not fit all.

Plodding about in myths of greener pastures.

Happily unaware of the here…and, hereafter.