Who sleeps better than dogs, babies and cats???
Doggies of the Realm
In seeking to coordinate the canines of the realm,
they formed a grand committee with a countess at the helm
to account for all the dachshunds and classify the terriers,
find greyhounds in their kennels and yorkies in their carriers,
to track down the grand pyrenees up in the highest rocks,
to record all the lapdogs and dalmatians on their walks.
At first strict in her discipline in separating breeds,
in protecting bloodlines and meeting owners’ needs,
when her helpers warned her that they’d run out of spaces,
she had to capitulate in order to find places.
Since they’d run out of kennels, she had to loosen rules.
She locked labs in the closets, tied boxers to the newels.
Put shih tzus in the cupboards and toy poodles in the drawers,
stored retrievers in the boathouse, tied Chihuahuas to the oars.
She felt she’d scored the jackpot when the prisoners all made bail
and so they handed over the former county jail.
She converted all the cellblocks into canine cages
and began to fill up rosters—pages upon pages.
At first she sorted breeds using a system alphabetical,
but later sorting systems became more hypothetical,
and as her sorting powers eroded over time,
soon she had her doggies classified by rhyme.
For example, in the cages assigned to standard poodles,
she filled the extra corners with the labradoodles.
She recorded canines of every breed and size—
dogs with every length of hair, in every shape and guise,
until at last she had them all down in black and white—
every wagging tail and every growl and bite.
So the snappers and the lickers, the yappers and the yippers
got to go back home to retrieve their masters’ slippers!!
(Click on mug shots to enlarge for better identification.)
Oh man. Brian pooped in the sala and peed in the spare bedroom, in spite of the fact that I took him out twice last night and once this morning. Then Annie cried all morning in spite of the fact I’d given her food, water and head scratches—perhaps because Brian was in my bed with me? Put Brian out, put a cushy bed for him out on the side of the house and opened gate for Morrie to join him in the side and front yard so they could play without Diego’s interference. Morrie immediately went for the cat food in this usual cat’s domain and then for Annie, whom I had forgotten was in the front garden. Chased her behind the big planter, where she was cowering when I came out to put Morrie back in the back yard and to rescue Annie. There are not enough zones in this house! I don’t know that I have a solution to the problem. Brian is crying outside but I won’t have an animal who pees and poops inside! Help.
1/2 hour later. Good news. Brian has stopped crying.
It’s daybreak when the rude alarm
is shut off by your questing arm.
As you roll over, the blanket’s pull
is your daily ritual.
As you leave the room, I do not stir.
I hear the blender’s angry whirr.
I hear you shower, brush and groom,
but stay wrapped in our bed’s warm womb.
I feel your presence. I hear you cough.
A rapid hug and you are off.
And in these hours away from me,
I suspect infidelity.
All day long I wait and wait
in an agitated state
for the creaking of the gate
that says you’ll soon alleviate
my loneliness this whole day through
that I’ve spent pining over you.
I leave the house, then come inside
to find the presents that you hide
to keep me entertained while you
do whatever you must do
to keep a roof over our head—
to provide shelter, food and bed.
Finally, a slamming door,
your footsteps on the hallway floor.
You bend down for our first caress.
and I’m suspicious, I confess.
I smell your collar, arms and cuff
until I’ve gathered facts enough.
I find no odor, no stray hair.
No other dog has tarried there!
A vine on the post supporting the terrace roof had grown so big that it totally blocked off access to the sidewalk from the terrace. Going down to turn off water to the pool, as a result, was a tricky and dangerous business, especially at night, when I had to step off onto an uneven area of dirt and plants. I also had a whole set of lawn furniture I couldn’t use because the yard incline was too severe, the back legs sunk into the dirt, and I tipped over backwards when I sat down on them. Lastly, the junction of the two brick pathways had become a favorite digging site for the dogs. Solution? A little brickwork and a few plants.
Please click on first photo to see captions and enlarge all photos.
(This post was done at the request of Forgottenman, who has been dying to see what is going on.)
My dogs aren’t highfalutin. Don’t compete by size and weight.
All that classy dog shows preach, they repudiate.
Diego never notices where a thrown stick lands,
and neither one’s consistent in following commands.
On stormy days, Morrie’s been known not to chance the rain
to go about his business in the usual terrain.
They’re murderers of possums. This is no fresh news.
And when six pork chops vanished, I followed all the clues
down to where the evidence lay “hidden” in the yard.
How did six chop bones get there? It wasn’t very hard
to figure out the mystery. Diego was the thief
tall enough to bring about my dinner party grief,
swiping all the main course directly from the pan.
When his master’s back is turned, a dog does what he can.
But at least they are consistent in appearing for their meals.
No dog can only live on the comestibles he steals.
For more frisky business, go HERE or HERE or HERE or HERE! Or HERE, HERE or HERE or HERE! The entire story of the purloined pork chops is HERE, and, if you want it all in a nutshell, THIS ONE pretty much wraps up the whole story of my misbehaving dogs.
Prompt words today are highfalutin, repudiate, consistent and, since none of my other prompt sites has posted a prompt yet and since August 26 is National Dog Day, I’m declaring my fourth prompt word to be dog!! If you see this and want to play along, just post a link to a photo or poem or anecdote about your dog to this site.
Here is my link for your pingbacks to this site: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2019/08/26/frisky-businessanimal-mischief/
When Cars Stop, Sticks Will Do!!!
A dog just needs something to chase and lacking a car to chase, given a friendly arm to throw it, sticks work just fine. Those bottles, by the way, are not trash. The fishermen were using them to hold up ropes keeping the water hyacinth back to open a channel.
Click on first photo to enlarge all.
For the Six Word Challenge