Every writer dips his brush into his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.
A book is good company. It is full of conversation without loquacity. It comes to your longing with full instruction, but pursues you never. It is not offended at your absent-mindedness, nor jealous if you turn to other pleasures, of leaf, or dress, or mineral, or even of books. It silently serves the soul without recompense, not even for the hire of love. And yet more noble, it seems to pass from itself, and to enter the memory, and to hover in a silvery transfiguration there, until the outward book is but a body, and its soul and spirit are flown to you, and possess your memory like a spirit. And while some books, like steps, are left behind us by the very help which they yield us, and serve only our childhood, or early life, some others go with us in mute fidelity to the end of life, a recreation for fatigue, an instruction for our sober hours, and a solace for our sickness or sorrow. Except the great out-doors, nothing that has no life of its own gives so much life to you.
1. Dogs feed on not only kibble but connection. A commonness between dog and the world around them.
Have you ever wondered why you were placed here on earth? Sometimes we lose our way and are not sure about our true purpose. The same is true for dogs.
When dogs are given a job and contribute in some way to the well being of others they feel a sense of satisfaction. As humans, we need to find our purpose as well. When we take the time to discover our purpose in life, we feel more fulfilled, and our life feels more meaningful.
SING AND BARK TO YOUR HEARTS CONTENT!!!
every dog needs a friend they can beat up and than take to bed!
What A dog wants, what a dog needs…
I want to thank you for giving me time to fart, like a old sock. You, my master waited so obediently! You sat there dumb founded while I got my shit together.
And I am thanking for for giving me what a dog wants. What makes me drool. What makes me daffy. And, what have I figured out? It’s okay to mark but not hump too much!
Cuz in my heart was a picture of us struggling to walk at the dog park, or humping the neighbor’s legs and it’s lucky for me you know how to beg.
There was a time where I was bullheaded. I was not neutered. Trotted away just to hide my balls from you! But best friend you knew my scent better than I knew it myself.
Sting says, if you love something let it go. If it comes back it was yours. But I hunted it down and maimed it’s beak. That’s how I knew…when you buried it the very next week..
She had dreamed she was walking along with the Undisciplined Dog…a God amongst the the bitches and bastards of the canine world! And, with every scoop of doggie waste she noted six footprints in the piles of dung deposited along the path.
Scenes from this women’s life flashed across the dog park. Each Kodak moment peppered with scenes of I am owned by my dog and he knows it. Times and hours spent debating the age old question…am I smarter than my dog. With each disturbingly socially inept run in with the doggie law and with every minute she had spent explaining to authorities…’I promise officer he won’t be left alone without adult supervision again’. With every pet ownership trauma, every soiled newly upholstered white couch and amongst all the turmoil and fallen tears of breaking the beast…discouraging his overzealous need to hump small children’s stuffed animals.
When the very last scene of turmoil, disbelief and citation of ‘running at large’ flashed before the dog owner’s disillusioned sky. With all this and a new prescription of doggie depressants in hand…
the woman noticed that during her darkest hours of paying for the milking cow the ‘dog’ mistook
as a meal.
the bleakest scenes showed one set of footprints.
PIssed off and pissed on…
the woman asked her companion-
Damned Dog, you said that once I decided to bribe your bad behavior with treats
you’d leash me up and walk me all the way.
‘I don’t get it. You f-ing asshole why when I needed you most…to lick my wounds, offer up love unconditionally
and ignore my serenading you with bad 80’s tunes…with all that…
when I needed you most you would strut away from me
as though my kindness didn’t exist.
The Dog replied,
‘My precious animal advocate I love you and would never
It strikes hard…the lackless wonderment that used to live within us all. The caring, the sharing and the wanting to make things right again.
‘Can you change this gold bracelet in for some cash? It was my mothers and my baby’s sick…she has immune deficiency disorder…we have to get her to the hospital!’
Without hesitation a NO! No can do! Nope, check back tomorrow. Please come back Monday thru Friday 9-5.
How hard would it have been to ask, how much, how long has this been going on and do you need some sort of help…other than the obvious.
There is nothing like throwing the word SIN around like a bouncy ball in a bouncy house to bring the whole sordid, I don’t care, out in the open. For if nothing else the ‘store’ filled with the disgrace that only sin can bring.
As with Kubler Ross’s stages of death and grief and getting on with your SHIT! I went through the following self-absorbed righteous…think more of self and less of others…full circle.
I should have asked, ‘how much do you need?’
I shouldn’t have thought the worse, ‘those kids need to put the crack pipe down and take care of business.’
My typically tough exterior withered away into a guilt ridden scenario of…
‘I know better than that. Of all people who am I to judge.’
It had been too late the remorse, the grief, the sadness and wanting and yearning to take the moment back and say:
Artist, poet, writer and earth person…where hath you kindness gone?
Shit, the night had been ruined from there on out. How did I become that person I claim to despise the most? Assuming the worse in others with fist closed, mind closed and heart not open.
It all had reminded me of a plight flight I had taken many years ago.
Three days before Christmas, kids, spouse and an empty bank account. There had been nothing under our stolen from a local graveyard Blue Spruce…Nothing but a lack of knowing how to rectify the situation.
Fortunately, the local Army stepped in. Offering Salvation, gifts and good will. No one had asked us then…‘hey, kids, whatcha do with the money? You ain’t one of those hippie folks from up ’round Weaverville, are you?’
So easy to forget that to be humble when your plate is full…the plate is always empty to begin with. Had I learned my lesson tonight? Did I reprimand my inner selfish-ness? Yes, well, I beat myself up pretty good. Not enough to take that five minutes back. Never enough to remind me again…in a month or a year or a decade. After time has faded into my Levi’s and my cynicism has returned. I suppose to walk a mile in another’s shoes means to walk it daily…not just upon reproach!
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths Where highways never ran- But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner’s seat Nor hurl the cynic’s ban- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife, But I turn not away from their smiles and tears, Both parts of an infinite plan- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead, And mountains of wearisome height; That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by- They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish – so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat, Or hurl the cynic’s ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
TheCertifiablyTRUERavingsOfASectionedPhilosopher: Don't be afraid to think you might be a little 'crazy'. Who isn't? Check out some of my visualized poems here: https://www.instagram.com/maxismaddened/