Category Archives: misbehaving dogs

Helpless: Scene Viewed Through the Locked Glass Front Door of the Kitchen


Scene Viewed Through the Locked Glass Front Door of the Kitchen

There’s insurgent action at the rear kitchen door.
First one unrepentant rebel and now I see one more.
My houseguests didn’t secure the periphery completely
and now one paw has breached the screen and opened it completely!
A dog’s whole avarice is culinary. Now they seek it out.

That pork roast on the counter? Gone without a doubt!
That carrot cake I cherished? Demolished in a flash.
The potato salad vanishes. And now a furry dash.
They depart the opened doorway and soon they’re over yonder.
Their tummies adequately filled, I think they do not ponder
what the rest of us will dine on. Dogs are not endowed with guilt.
Should have factored in housebreakers when that sliding door was built!

Prompt words today are cherish, avarice, yonder, insurgent and potato.



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!

Prompts for today are winsome, manner, justify, leftovers and home.

Hospitality House


Hospitality House

The housesitter I met was really a dear
but the friend she invited was not, so I hear
from the neighbors awakened by shouting at three
who related the details later to me.
The spare dog left over when they departed
was sweet but destructive. He barked and he farted.
He fell off my roof and he swims in my pool,
so I gated the roof for I am no one’s fool.
Built pool steps so he could exit with ease,
but I’m also allergic so I cough and I sneeze.
Three dogs were too much so I built them a room,
replaced all the chewed up books, beds and broom.
She broke my best dish and her guy was a louse,
so though dogs are welcome here in my house,
humans are on trial. If their actions are needless,
no more invitations go out to the heedless!

To be fair, this poem is an amalgam of several different housesitters, and I’ve had some good ones as well, so don’t be insulted if you were one of the good’uns!!!

The prompt was “hospitality.”

The Dangers of Blogging


I’ve been working sunup to late afternoon for the last four days setting up and running a booth that sells the wares of all of the participants of our wonderful Maestros del Arte show in Chapala.  The last two days were rainy and cold which necessitated two revampings of the booth and moving of all the goods.  The rain kept coming and the mud puddles got deeper. I was running from booth to booth and then back to ours and came home exhausted every night.  Tonight, therefore, I got home at 5, fed the dogs, warmed up a few leftovers, washed off my muddy feet and fell into bed.  It was freezing cold in my house with no central heating, so I set a little space heater on my night table and took turns warming my four sides of my body, fetched a heating pad to warm my hands, and socks to warm my feet. I fell asleep at 7 p.m. and woke up at 11 p.m.

Still, still night.  Went out to see the Super Moon, but it was too overcast to reveal even a glow to suggest where it might be.  Then the gloom opened up for a few seconds and  I ran in to get my camera, but by the time I located it, the sky had closed its window again. Read a few blogs, including Murdo Girl’s which had a video I turned on.  In it her three dogs were barking and barking.  Immediately, Morrie and Diego, who had been sleeping peacefully in the doggie domain,  went rushing out into the night to bark back at them outside the  sliding glass door to my bedroom.  Then all the neighborhood dogs began to bark back.  I brought my dogs in with the promise of a dog biscuit, locked them in their cages, and they are calm once again, but sixteen minutes later, the neighbor’s dog is still going crazy.  The dangers of blogging.

Bedtime in the Bodoga

 Bedtime in the Bodoga

Frida and Morrie both got new beds today, thanks to Morrie who ate Frida’s old one and has eaten two of his own as well as one of the cat’s beds.  He  leaves only his idol Diego’s bed alone and sleeps in it whenever he can get away with it, so I bought him one just like Diego’s. (It’s upside down for now with the plastic side up just in case he decides to have an “accident.”  (That’s not unknown to happen!) Once he’s a big boy, we’ll put the hot pink cloth side up. (Although it isn’t obvious in this picture, he does still have ears!)


Frida got a big pillow that isn’t even tacky.  First one I’ve found that isn’t obnoxious colors or plaid or some other horrid print. At first Frida was suspicious and wouldn’t sleep on or even put one paw on her bed, but as you can see, she is now giving it a chance:


Since Morrie is still being mean to her, Frida gets to continue sleeping in the main house.  She should have a few privileges of age.  We all should!  She now likes her new bed and I think it will be more hair-resistant than her old bed that seemed more like a hair-receiver than a bed.

Here’s Diego, in his same old bed that has made it through six months with Morrie:


The carpenter came today to measure for the shelves and storage bins for kibbles.  They’ll have aluminum liners so the mice can’t get in–or the dogs!!! And, they have their own tiny fridge for opened tins of wet dog food and fresh bones, which the vet tells me I have to freeze for two weeks before giving them to them.  Do you think the Taj Mahal got this much press when it was being built????

I tried removing the cages and just had their beds in the room, but they were so restless and that was when Morrie ate Frida’s bed, so I’ve put their beds back in cages and they seem much happier.  I haven’t been shutting Diego’s door and he hasn’t reminded me to do so.  He used to want it shut and locked.  Morrie has learned how to open his cage door.  Smart little trouble-maker!!! He’s even opened the side that has two locks instead of one.

I think I mentioned before that my friend Dan of Dan and Rhonda fame has dubbed the Doggie Domain with a new name:  The Bodoga.  (A bodega is a storage room so the bodoga is of course a storage spot for dogs!)

Let me know when you are sick of Doggie Domain (Bodoga) news.  I don’t seem to be able to stop myself.  I have a cool slide series showing the entire construction process but can’t figure out how to have the last pictures I want to add go on at the end and also I don’t know how to post a video or slides on WordPress.  I just now learned how to find the Shortlink and how to post on Thursday Doors! Does the learning curve ever flatten out?????

Morrie Takes off and Brings the Road Home with Him!!!!

Morrie Takes off and Brings the Road Home with Him!!!!

It’s true.  When Pepe came to give me my massage today, he opened the door and all three dogs ran out!  After two months of never escaping when the construction guys were in and out dozens of times a day, suddenly they asserted themselves and were long gone–not a whisper of a tailfeather was in view in any direction by the time I got out in the street to call for them.  I didn’t know whether to fear that they’d gone up the mountain or to be glad.  No cars up there and fewer dogs than in the streets.  So, nothing to be done. I decided to leave them alone ’til they came home, wagging their tails behind them.  An hour and a half later, that’s what they did.  The first two to enter were fine, but this is what I saw when Morrie entered!


First thing he did was make right for the water bowl.


A one-and-a-half-hour run in the mountains sure makes a Laird thirsty!!!


I couldn’t help but notice the splint-like accumulation on his leg.


not to mention the sizeable limb of some sticky weed, complete with tiny tenacious bristles all over it and flower abloom.


Oh yes, those little decorations all over his head were sticky as well, and had no desire to be shed.


Contrast Morrie to his brother’s pristine coat!


The “limb” looked like a sunbather using Morrie’s coat to  attract the sun’s rays–a sort of solar hothouse!

Ah, Morrie.  Always a new thrill.  I got the limb off, in pieces, before he took off to tussle with Diego.  When I fed them, I got a few more pieces removed, then noticed that some scraped off as Diego and Morrie rolled and growled and wrestled and did their usual hi-jinx.  I went back to party preparations.  (Pictures to follow.)

I have neglected to say that the doggie domain is almost finished. Today they primed the walls and they reflect so much light into the hall now that I’m tempted to leave the walls white.  Dare I?  It looks beautiful, even in the chalky transluscent white of the primer.  I put the fridge in and the two cages with beds inside and Frida’s bed which almost entirely take up all the floor room.  I left the outside door to it open and a half hour ago, heard noises and went in to find Diego in Frida’s bed and Morrie in Diego’s bed in Diego’s cage! I couldn’t persuade them to switch back to their own bunks, so we’ll see what happens when Frida comes in. No lights connected, so I can’t take a picture!  Perhaps I’ll try with flash.

Happy Thanksgiving!  Tomorrow before the guests come, I plan to put Diego in the doggie domain, Morrie (and his bed) in the little dog run outside the spare bedroom and Frida in the garage with her bed while the guests are here.  One guest asked if she could bring her dog and I said I thought there would be pandemonium enough with my three.



Finally, A Voice!!!—A Letter from Two Bad (Misunderstood) Dogs

Today they chose my suggestion for the daily prompt! It was: Return Address—Yesterday, your pet/baby/inanimate object could read your post. Today, they can write back (thanks for the suggestion, lifelessons!). Write a post from their point of view (or just pick any non-verbal creature/object).

If you’d like to see the letter the below post answers, please go here.

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Finally, A Voice!!
(A Letter from Two Bad (Misunderstood) Dogs)

Do you think it’s simple, giving voice to our demands
without the proper vocal chords, without your human hands?
Everytime we try to talk, you scold us and you hush us,
even though you’ve just admitted that our howls are luscious.

And lacking proper fingers, we cannot write you letters.
We aren’t given proper tools to address our “betters.”
Simply howls and growls and barks and waggings of the tail—
and yet you do not take the time to learn this doggy Braille!

If you’d listen closer, perhaps you’d understand us.
Instead you shout out, “Stop!” and “Hush!” and seek to countermand us.
Can’t you understand that we’re protecting you from prowlers?
Feral cats and owls and skunks and nearby canine howlers?

We have such curiosity, though you determine to balk us.
We wouldn’t have to rush the gate if you’d take time to walk us!
We have to climb up on the roof to get a worldly view.
We wouldn’t be there barking if you’d take us out with you!

As for the cat food, take a clue. The reason we adore it
Is ‘cause it’s smelly, wet and luscious. Dog food? We abhor it!
That cat leaves a bit to tempt us—it’s a cruel feline game!
So why not buy us cat food? It costs you just the same.

And now the final agony. The ultimate tragic hitch,
Not only can our mom not cook, but now we make her itch!
No wonder our neuroses include jostling for attention.
A mother who can’t touch us? This escaped your earlier mention.

We thought you didn’t like us so we tried to win your favor.
Your touch is what we long for even more than cat food’s savor.
And as for pooping in the yard, you never told us to
sneak behind the garden shed to have our little poo.

You seem to think we know these things, but where would we have learned?
It’s you who should have taught us, for obedience must be earned.
If you would spend more time with us, perhaps you’d finally see
there is no other creature with whom we would rather be.

An Ode to Dog Companions

The Prompt: Literate for a Day—Someone or something you can’t communicate with through writing  can understand every single word you write today, for one day only. What do you tell them?

An Ode to Dog Companions

Darling little Frida, dearest Diego, too.
I have a little something I have to say to you.
If you’d like to go out walking every single day,
you have to start responding when I shout out, “Hey!”

That word means “Pay attention!” Its volume says “Right now!”
It doesn’t mean to take off after every passing cow
pulling me right after you, cause it is two to one,
and since my last foot surgery, I don’t much like to run!

Another little something I’d really like to tell
is that it was all your fault the last time that I fell.
When one of you runs toward the lake, the other towards the town,
your leashes wrap around me and the way I go is down!

Please don’t jump up on the screen whenever mealtime’s near.
I’ve had it mended more than once—a dozen times, I fear.
If you sit there quietly, your meal will be served fast.
I tell this to you each day, but my words don’t seem to last.

Another little something that needs badly to be said
is that it would be lovely if you’d shit behind the shed
instead of on the footpath or all over the grass,
for pooping over everything is really rather crass.

You don’t have to answer that dog across the street,
for he sets a barking record that you don’t have to beat.
The fighting cocks can crow without your high accompaniment.
(Albeit that your howls are growing quite magnificent.)

The hound of the Baskervilles was acting on a curse
and now that you have matched him, there’s no need to rehearse.
The owl will hoot hoot every night no matter what you do.
Ignore him, please. This is your mother begging it of you!

The dog food is for you dogs, and the cat food is for cats.
If you keep forgetting this, it’s going to drive me bats!
It does no good to try to knock cat dishes from the wall.
Those antics will not ever get you anywhere at all!

Diego, when I get home, please don’t drive Frida away!
You won’t believe there’s love enough, no matter what I say.
I have one hand for each of you, so let her have her share.
You are a dog and not a pig, so gluttony’s not fair.

Please don’t eat the cat bed and please don’t chase the cat.
Bullying’s not an answer. I will have none of that!
You found me on the street and did all that you could do
to make me bring you home with me to join my motley crew.

I am allergic to you dogs, and also to each cat,
although I know that you cannot be cognizant of that.
And so you want to sleep real near and have me stroke you often.
But when I do, it ends in itching, nose-blowing and coughin’.

Your species is a puzzle to which I don’t have a key.
Though it was at your insistence that I brought you home with me,
why is it every single time an open gate you see,
you’re through it, running down the street, so anxious to be free?

(for a similar prose answer to this prompt, go Here)