Love for pet roots
Deep in my heart,
Has made it ever
My family member,
I cannot separate
But I do count it,
Its rights and share
To me it does bear
I come back every year with the same wish! Have I been good? Well, I suppose that is debatable. Have I been nice? Well, that leads me to my request.
The same request I have had for the last twelve years!
Yes, I believe that I’ve been fairly nice. However, the ‘niceties’ are being pushed to the limit!
Realistically, it isn’t always ‘shit’. Sometimes, more often than not, it is a dead animal.
I’ve done the research. I’ve trained dogs…obviously, not well. Dogs roll in ‘stuff’ to disguise their scent. To make themselves somehow invisible to those lurking at the farm or hardened trail.
We walk in some ‘wild, wild, acreage.’ Therefore, I am almost as aware of my surroundings as, the out of control dogs.
Not once have I felt that a gopher or skunk had been out there in the thicket…awaiting for us to make one false mistake.
Do not get me wrong! Obviously we, the dogs and I, are not alone. Yet, unlike humans, whatever four-legged stranger, danger, animal, that is out there. Wants to enjoy their walk. And, wishes for us to do the same.
Please, Santa, could you talk to the dogs about their sub-par behavior? My wife is beginning to think that I encourage the dogs to be gross. It is putting a strain on the romance…if you get what I mean.
Yes, I have been nice. But I am getting pushed to the limit!
Long May You Run,
It makes the least and, the most amount of sense.
‘this is the only road I will ever be on.’
An elder in a pack of three…having barked up the wrong tree.
Never knowing with certainty…
How the chaotic nature of things will regard me.
She had lost part of the family.
She had lost…a friend.
And, for the first time in a long while, I turned the car radio down.
I had pushed pass a time to begin…again.
To pay attention to all the passing souls.
To give notice towards those for whom the bell has toll-ed.
And, as I flipped through the pages of memories.
‘what a basic human need to concede…’
Give reverence to a friend’s remorse.
I wept audibly with the hum of my car.
Embracing those I had known.
How palpably they had gone.
But the gifts they gave.
They were never…too far.
Not too soon…Not too much later…
Her loss became my loss.
Than as if planned…
a spotted paw.
My dog’s intrinsic gesture to revoke the heart from breaking.
Not a genuflection of annoyance.
But a touch for understanding.
The mournful to look in his eyes…
Meant grief did not need to be just mine…for the undertaking.
“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.”
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I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts
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