Tag Archives: Morrie

Long Morning

Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.

Long Morning

When I brought her home two weeks ago,
she was so tiny I didn’t know
what an excess of energy
was going to be required of me.
One older woman and two old dogs
obsessed with squirrel-patrol and blogs
have taken on a task most bold
raising a puppy six weeks old.

At first it was just her and me
Never was I puppy-free.
My favorite bag, a shoulder sling,
has become her favorite carrying thing.
Her head outside to view the world,
when she preferred, she snugly curled
inside its secure little nest
lined with “her” nightgown now—my best.

But daily life behind tall walls
contains the chance of dangerous falls,
swimming pools and dogs and cats
that have been known to prey on bats—
also each possum, ground squirrel, mouse
that threatens to invade the house.
How are they to know that that
tiny creature is not a rat?

But since she seems to have no other,
Diego’s subbing as godmother
when I need a tiny break
to photograph and write and make.
This new member of their gang
is the one that he’ll harangue
to go here, not over there,
but he is a strange au pair.
He’s so immense and she’s so small
that she is hardly there at all.

This period of tear and raze
is just a usual puppy phase.
She’s active now, without surcease.
There’s little time for rest or peace
for old dogs who need their rest,
but still we do for her what’s best.
Since it’s hard to quantify how long
before she knows what’s right and wrong,
the pool is the greatest threat
we’ve had to deal with as of yet.
So Diego and I keep an eye
to see where present dangers lie.

We herd her from its dangerous rim.
Then she’s distracted by a limb
of palm that’s swaying in the breeze—
a new adventure for her to seize.
Diego follows close behind,
mindful of dangers she might find.
An hour passes, then another
as we share the role of mother.

But, it’s up to me to plan our rest
when,
exhausted from her youthful zest,
Diego sinks down for a nap.
So, when Zoe jumps down from my lap,
I chase her down and lift her up.
Too old for such a frisky pup,
I pile the hammock with pillows and
put first her, and then my hand
inside that cave so soft and deep,
stroking ’til she’s sound asleep.

In mere seconds, or so it seems,
Diego, also, falls to dreams.
Spread out in the cool grass,
he snoozes as the hours pass
and Morrie goes to do his thing
beneath where she’s content to swing.

It’s five hours since Zoe first woke me up and at least three hours since I put her in the hammock and she’s still nestled there, sound asleep. This is the first time Morrie has shared a bit in her care. He’s dubious of her puppy ways so keeps his distance, but it looks like he’s found his proper role. Zoe, on the other hand, has been asleep for hours and this is what has given me the time to write this blog. You can see where I’m working in the photo above. Zoe’s hammock is in full view and when I’ve seen it rocking a few times, I’ve gone to check. She was awake, but perfectly happy to remain in her little nest. I’ve had the morning outside in the garden where I’ve not only written the above poem but also taken pictures and videos, trimmed a few plants, marked the limbs I want cut off the pistachio tree and taken down the one hammock which finally split in two when I tried to lie in it. (Yes, I wound up on the stone floor beneath it, thankfully with a pillow right below my tailbone, which has already been broken twice in my life.) I went up to get Zoe’s lunch, but although the other two were very interested in it, she has slept right on, an hour and a half past her usual lunch time. So that’s the Zoe report. She is now two months old and weighs three pounds!!! I’ll be posting a video of her later.

Prompt words today are harangue, peace, quantify, raze and other.

Zoe Report 8: Communication and Dogplay

Diego and Zoe get to know each other. Morrie looks on.

Sunday Stills: Feathers and Fur

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Sunday Stills: Fur-tastic Paws and Birds of a Feather

Panegyric Poetry: Ode to Morrie

 

Ode to Morrie

Oh you ball of energy, you little snarl of fluff.
When it comes to hugging you, I cannot get enough.
Your hair so black and curly, your teeth so sharp and white
that it is an honor when you choose to bite.

Your flair at ball retrieval truly has no equal.
However many thrown for you, you always seek a sequel.
Your eyes luminous marbles, your nails a lovely shape
from running over terraces to stem a squirrel’s escape.

Your hairy little jowls would put Borgnine’s to shame.
So many little mysteries for which you aren’t to blame.
What creature eats the birdseed spread out on the wall?
What other creature has your leap? What other dog the gall?

You give the cats their exercise and what possum would dare
to stray into a garden given to your care?
Oh brave little caroler when interloper passes,
Your mighty barks belie your size. No burglar tests your sasses.

At night you serenade me with your howling croon
accompaniment to ambulances or the rising moon.
My revered alarm clock, my companion after dark,
as now and then throughout the night I celebrate your bark.

Each day I laud thy energy, thy beauty and thy voice.
When I contemplate your dogginess, I cannot but rejoice!
This ode of praise I write for thee, I cannot help but pen it.
If there had been a dog messiah, my dear, you would have been it!

 

A Panegyric poem of praise for dVerse Poets

Morrie’s Greatest Love of All

Click on photos to enlarge.

For Cee’s CFFC: The Greatest Love of All

The Doggone Doggie Blues: dVerse Poets


The Doggone Doggie Blues

The naughty dogs who leave their marks when jumping up on me.
The naughty bruises that remain, spreading their stains on me.
I cannot stop this rudeness. I cannot find the means.
I cannot stop their tugging at my blouse sleeves and my jeans.

Unruly little denizens of my humble home,
they range wherever they may choose on terrace and on dome.
They jump up in the hammock when I choose to swing.
They jump up on my visitors to see what they might bring.

They dig into my planters and eat the tasty loam.
They even dig into my sleep to bring their mother home
from dreams where she evades them, living her own life
away from doggie pressures, away from doggie strife.

What pleasures might she find anew living all alone?
What pleasures might they miss for which her conscience would atone?
All in all, they make up for the problems that they bring.
All in all, their lonesome howls to sirens are the thing
that swell her heart and make her want to join along and sing.

I wrote this for the dVerse poets Anaphora/Epiphora prompt, but unfortunately missed the deadline. Been there before, will be there again, no doubt. At any rate, here it is for the world at large!

But, just had a brainstorm and posted it on the dVerse Poets Open Link Night, where we can post any poem on any topic. Tardy but still within the law!. Here is a link to others who published poems for Open Link Night.

What Will (And Won’t) A Dog Eat?

As I made my evening smoothie, I found the remains of my afternoon meal on the countertop. Hating to waste it, I decided to see what parts of it the dogs would eat. They’d already had their own meal hours before, but this is what I took out to the doggie domain–and the result:  (Click on photos to enlarge and read what happened.)

What will a dog eat? Clearly, everything!!!

In His Dreams

In His Dreams

I listen to his sad refrain.
Won’t I please throw the ball again?
The fright that I will not comply
is reflected in each eye.
They vilify and then they plead.
Throwing’s a must, not just a need.

As I accept the ball and throw,
long and hard and sure and low,
his retrieval skills are so efficient,
a dozen lofts are not sufficient.
He gives a snort, is here, then there
to catch the ball while in the air.

This small tangled ball of hair
curled up on the bottom stair—
I know he’s dreaming when I hear his yip,
see running legs, a sudden dip
of jaw that signals his success.
He’s caught the ball I threw, I guess.

His need to fetch so strong and deep,
I’m sure he does it in his sleep.
I wonder if I fully stand

within his dream, or is a hand
the only evidence at all
of one who throws the yearned-for ball?

 

Prompts for today are fright, vilify, snort, refrain and sleep.

What Have You Got in Your Mouth???

Morrie, what do you have in your mouth?

Oh, okay. Good boy. Fetch!

Diego, what did you have in your mouth?

Oh No! Bad boy! Um. Good boy?

Much as I hate to kill anything—even cockroaches and ants—sometimes your own interests have to win out. After suffering an infestation of rats in my laundry room a few years ago, I guess I can’t object too much to Diego’s efforts to protect his house and property. A few more yards and that rat would have been invading the dog or catfood or worse. They ate through a lidded very durable garbage can before to get to the catfood. R.I.P. little rat.

Morrie Plays Pool Basketball

 

For you Morrie fans, here is a video of my housesitter Ian teaching him to play basketball in the pool. Don’t worry. Ian isn’t really in the au naturel. He has on flesh colored trunks. Morrie is nude.