He is so tiny, rolled in a ball
that you can barely see him at all,
but when his favorite people happen to call,
then he stretches out and tries to be tall!
Shortly after I dealt with Annie’s disappearance, I heard a boy’s voice from inside my house. It was Oscar, Yolanda’s son, with Brian, his sister Yoli’s chihuahua, resplendent in a red sweater with hood with big three-dimensional eyeballs on top. Pablo, Yolanda’s husband, has kidney failure and is going to have to undergo periodic dialysis in his home. For this reason there can be no animals in the house and they have two dogs. Up until now they’ve just put them in the spare fenced yard next door, but it is of course heartbreaking so guess who Brian’s next designated master is? (Yoli, Yolanda’s daughter named him after a hero of hers–a character in a movie about cars. We cannot figure out who this character is.) UPDATE: The dr. decided the emotional harm to Pablo in losing Brian outweighed the harm of having a dog in the house (Even the dr. was crying when he saw how upset Pablo was) so with the new air cleaning machine I gave Pablo for Xmas and their promises that Brian would be confined to Yoli’s room, the dr. gave his permission for them to bring Brian home. Everyone so happy. Brian the happiest. I have a video of his reaction when he saw the family again.. I’ll show it as soon as I get the sound off. Won’t tell you why.
So far he gets along fine with Kukla, the female outside cat and Morrie, the Scottie, but he’s scared of Diego who is not mean but overenthusiastic and I heard a loud few yips when Ollie, the male outside cat, came home. So, for now he goes in the front garden with the cats when I’m gone or when he needs air and I’ll leave the door to the backyard open a bit so he can slip through the bars if he wants to go play with Morrie, but so he can escape from Diego if he needs to.
As for Annie? She absolutely ignores him. Pretends she’s asleep. Keep them permanently confused. That’s the secret of my success with animals. Only problem is that Brian insists on lying on my lap while I’m at the computer which is not very comfortable. Where he will sleep? Well, that is to be seen.
These are a few photos of the first ten hours of life with Brian.
It’s true I can decipher after all these years
every little wiggle, each twitching of their ears.
See that head’s uplifting? The garbageman is near.
That ruff of neck spells danger. Tail between legs means fear.
One whine warns of a squirrel invading territory
intended for two dogs alone. Then barks are mandatory!
Sirens were meant for harmony—their plaintive howls a must.
Head bowed down submissively signals respect and trust.
They also know my language. When I move to the door
three rooms away to feed the cats, I hear their hungry roar.
Up against the back door, starving paws commence to scrape.
If I had plans to skip their meal, now there is no escape.
It is their task to let me know when feeding time is close,
and when I move at snail’s pace, they become quite verbose.
The younger dog, much better trained, awaits me in his cage,
surprised at how the older dog dares to jump and rage.
Ordered outside, he edges closer, full of twists and flounces.
The minute that the bowls are lowered, he charges in and pounces.
Then each is most fastidious in licking clean his plate,
fearing that starvation is a likely fate.
They keep a vigilant watch on me, peering through the bars
between the terrace and kitchen, as I open jars.
They hear the fridge door opening, they see each morsel fall.
If they ever get inside, they will devour them all.
And when perchance they sneak inside, against their master’s wishes,
take on the chore of licking clean all the old cat’s dishes.
How else might they show gratitude, with no words to express it?
They simply have to wag their tails and hope that I might guess it!
In honor of Canadian Thanksgiving and looking forward to ours later this month, this poem is dedicated to Morrie and Diego, who profit from all culinary events in my house:
(Dedicated to Two Hopeful Dogs)
Crying for our leftovers won’t bring you any favors.
You will not taste their textures or masticate their flavors
if you stand there begging. Those winsome looks aren’t working.
Nor are your lapsing manners—your twisting and your jerking.
Hunger doesn’t justify your unwelcome behavior.
Before we even sat down, we saw Grandpa was your savior,
slipping you a turkey leg he had dipped in gravy.
(That leg I’d saved for leftovers–a turkey sandwich, maybe.)
Our home-cooked meal? Delicious. That you already know.
When I cooked the pies, I fed you scraps of dough.
The turkey giblets boiled for gravy, later went to you.
When I cooked the cranberries, you even ate a few.
You licked the pumpkin bowl so clean. You licked the beater blade
when I whipped the cream for pies. Dear ones, you had it made.
So when you beg for leftovers, I’ll just ignore your fuss.
You ate before the guests, dears. Leftovers are for us!
For Cee’s B&W Tongues and Tails challenge.
Matt’s Daily Inkling prompt today is: How do you know when the time is right to add a new pet to the family? What’s the most interesting story in your life of adding a pet?
Are you picking up my vibes, Matt???? Can you believe that I am at this very moment trying to choose the prototypes for the three puppies in my new story book entitled “I Really Want a Puppy!”
I’d appreciate everyone voting on whether they find any of these preliminary rough sketches appealing for a story book for 3 to 8 year olds. I need three puppies, members of the same litter, and I’m trying to choose which one the little boy would like. If you would just vote yes or no on # 1, 2, 3 and 4 and indicate which you think would be most appealing for a little boy. The style of #1 is very different. After seeing it, I requested more cartoonish sketches. This is a story book for children age 3 to 8. Remember, these are preliminary sketches. If you like more than one, vote for up to three, but indicate which you think a little boy would like the most. If you don’t like any of them, let me know and it is back to the drawing board.
For Matt’s prompt: https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/16/plus-one-daily-inkling/
Dogs following their masters, close upon their heels.
Dogs waiting under tables, patiently, for meals.
Dogs sitting at attention, or looking for their balls.
Dogs patiently waiting for their masters’ calls.
Dogs upon the sofa, singly or in pairs.
Dogs listening for a certain car, on the carport stairs.
Some dogs travel as luggage. Others stay at home.
When masters get their leashes out, that’s when they get to roam.
Sitting on the rooftop or waiting on the stairs,
some dogs live as singles. Others roam in pairs.
Strolling ‘round the pool or sunning at the beach,
one dog or another is rarely out of reach.
Some dogs simply have to finish what they start.
First it’s just a little tug, but soon things fall apart.
Then they get in trouble for what was meant as fun
That’s why they look so innocent after they are done!
Why were they given teeth at all If they weren’t meant to use them?
It wasn’t their intention, when they started, to abuse them!
Their collars and their leashes incite their excitation
as harbingers of their favorite form of recreation.
But other types of collars are labelled cones of shame.
Hard for dogs to understand that they are not to blame.
Dogs are made for leaping. Some even look like goats.
Some roam the world au naturel whereas others wear coats.
So many different types of dogs and different types of masters.
But all agree their good points atone for their disasters.
(Click on any photo to enlarge all.)
For Ragtag’s prompt, “Dog“.