In Which Is Born A Strange Dynamic

There's grass in our backyard now! Doggies dream

Of such things, when of such they've been deprived --

Well most dogs, anyway. D'ja hear that scream?
"Eek! Grass!" quoth mine own collie. I've not jived

You there, I do assure you. When I go

Outside to sit and watch the sprinkler keep

The sod moist, does she join me? Mostly no.

Indeed, her mistrust seems to run so deep

That when her loneliness sets her to choose

To seek my company, she gives a scratch

Upon the backdoor -- but alas, you'd lose

The bet that she is coming out. The catch

Is that she wants me there indoors instead.

Politely I refuse. She bows her head.

In Which I Get Up From A Nap With Little Ambition

I'm sure that I'll regret it later. It's

Already dark; I missed the afternoon

With sleeping. Evening now, my old dog sits

(Or rather sprawls) atop my feet, and soon

I'll have a cup of tea. It's glamorous

To be me, and at home, while on the mend.

I feel your envy, know that you'd be us

If given any chance. Well, know, my friend,

It is quite peaceful. Rush hour's died down.

Reflected in my kitchen window, I

Look like I might yet live. Outside, the town

Begins to power off. A cloudless sky

Looms dark and quiet over all. Tonight:

Continued quiet. Might be time to write.

In Which I Miss My Dog But Can't Take Her With Me On Vacation

My house is empty, save for all my stuff;

The animating spirit, she has left.

Just for a week, but that seems long enough,

I sit here at my table; I'm bereft.

My bare feet stretch out, feeling for her fur

But Molly dog is nowhere to be found.

I know she misses me as I miss her,

But has a lot of fun where she is bound.

It's Grandpa Camp! Lord, how she loves my dad

(My mother, too; her little dog less so),

His yard, his truck, and also, yes, his bad,

Bad habit, tossing scraps from dinner. No!

He tells her when she begs, and yet somehow

She gets her way. Wish she were here right now!

In Which No One Surpasses The Weather Gods At April Fool's Day Prankery

For April Fool's, Cheyenne is getting punked.

We're inches deep in fresh new thundersnow.

I've just come in from shov'ling and look dunked

In someone's pool, all soakng wet. I know

It's spring, and so do you, but we forgot

To tell Wyoming's Mother Nature rep

(Although it's just as likely as is not

That Spring is simply playing hard to get;

She always was a tease). My canine friend,

Dear Molly, stands poised scared by the back door.

She loves the snow; indeed 'twould never end

Were she in charge, but just as my own poor

Dear doggie ventures outside for to play

The thunder booms and scares my girl away.

In Which A Very Ordinary Day Is Had

No words escaped my lips today; once more

Not even Molly, my dog, heard my voice.

No glamor or excitement, just one chore

That came after another, by my choice.

Not ev'ry day should be a quiet one

But when one comes, please help me not to scoff.

There's pleasure to be had, and even fun

In doing nothing on my last day off

Except for laundry, dishes, reading and

Attempting not to spend it all logged on

To feeds and other sites (though this, my grand

Scheme to unplug was not -- this is forgone

As those conclusions go -- successful). Though

I've maybe wasted time, 'tis good so, no?

In Which Poncho The Pug Gets The Jump On Santa

Pug-sitting, and it really could be worse;

The dogs were all alone from 6 a.m.

To 5 p.m. I could have had to curse

Disasters on the floors from one of them

(Or maybe both); some business or some torn

And shredded shoes - he's just a baby yet,

Is Poncho - but there's nothing to adorn

The carpet that smells foul. "Like, hey, no sweat,"

He seems to say, the puppy who's my guest,

"Eleven hours? Hey, I am young and tough,

And crate-trained so I know it's for the best

That I don't make a mess indoors. 'Twas rough,

Though, to withstand temptation all the way,

But packages get opened anyway!"

With Molly At The Off-Leash Dog Park Of A Wednesday Evening

So many doggies in the Mockler park

And Molly does not know how much she likes

To be among these animals who bark

And frisk about and sniff. One of these nights

I'll fail to get my girl to go at all.

She'll eye the car and know we're off to get

Some exercise, and she'll reject the call.

She likes okay the other dogs she's met

But much prefers to sniff the mail they leave

When it has aged. When proffered a fresh source

She turns her nose away. I do believe

At heart she is a kitteh, though of course

No kitteh would be caught dead herding labs

As she will do when toys are up for grabs.

In Which A Snowy Day Sets Me To Dithering

Contrary impulses have seized me, and

I'm transfixed, by the window, in their grips.

I still am sick, could barely lift a hand

To heave and shovel snow - though it's the hips

And legs that should do that work - yet I would

So dearly like to go play in that fresh, white

Inviting snow. My skis are - to the good -

In Saratoga, so that's out. All right

But just a walk? A bike ride? A quick romp

With Molly in the park? I really ought

To stay home and get well at last. I stomp

An angry foot at this, though. Yes, I've got

A poor track record, being sick and then

Undoing efforts to get well again.

In Which I Take My Last Road Trip Over The Range

The road will likely close soon for the year,

Wyoming 130 across the Range

Called Snowy, and it will do so, I fear

Before I may return to it. So strange

Today to see the aspens' hues in gold

And snow accumulated on the ground.

This last trip's memories will have to hold

Me till next spring. I rolled my windows down

Despite the cold, to let in those last smells

For my and Molly's pleasure, let my eyes

Go all unshaded, killed the radio. Spells

Of purest bliss would take me. Such good-byes

Are for all of the senses. But hellos

Await me, too, ahead, in winter's snows.

In Which I Prepare To Be Invaded

The KATE STATION is home to a mere two:

The collie and your humble sonneteer.

In minutes, though, I'll be trying to do

All that I can, with all of my good cheer

To make some room for this, my family -

Mom, Dad, and Sister Kris and, don't forget

That Missy Shitz-poo dog. It's going to be

Our first time all together here. I'll bet

There's something I've neglected that will make

Things difficult for someone. Well at least

The books are shelved, and I've managed to take

Back this old kitchen table from the beast

That is my laptop and accessories.

We might even dine off it if we please!

Migraine, Or, Hurry Up With The Locust Research Already

When ants of searing light march past my eyes
In crazed formations that it hurts to trace,
I know that feedback screeches I despise
Will fill my ears soon and I'll feel my face
Is far too small as is my viselike skull
Which someone cranked too tightly round my head.
The pain comes slowly; at first just a dull
Throb. Soon, though, I'll just want to go play dead,
Lie down in darkness, holding very still
And hoping that the harpies find me not.
Of course I'm caught flat-footed, not one pill
Of Imitrex is in my house. It's hot
And stifling. My poor dog knows something's wrong
And curls up by my bed, suffers along.

It's Independence DAY Not Independence Week, Dammit!

Lest I be called unpatriotic, I
Should n'er complain at Fourth of July fun.
But last I checked, a date was one day. Fie
Upon my neighbors, each and ev'ry one
Whose infinite supply of crappy booze
And caps to pop and hoot at like dumb apes
Keeps me awake long past the hour I choose
To call bedtime and pull closed all my drapes.
At least my dog, she gets some exercise,
A-jumping and a-shaking, startled at
Each wee explosion. I would not despise
This jubilation were it just on that
One special day and night, but let's be real.
The holiday lasts weeks now. What's the deal?

BONUS SONNET: In Which The Customary Closet Is Eschewed... For The Clothes Dryer?

I have a dog, and Molly is her name.

A tale or two I've told of her before.

I now may add to her e'er-growing fame

For cowardice, the following: Of yore,

When thunder's rumbles have occurred,

E'en ere their sensing by mere human ears,

To hide has been her instinct, though absurd;

Our house is large and sturdy. Molly's fears

Will brook no consolation, though. At most

Such times this collie-chicken mix has made

Her shelter in a closet. There, a ghost

In black and white she's cowered and she's stayed

Until bribed with a nom. But now the dryer

Seems safer? Or does she seek lint attire?

BONUS SONNET: Night of the Collie...And The Pug

Quoth Poncho, "Do you really want that bone?"

Quoth Molly, "Yes I do, now go away.

Quoth Poncho, "But you've left it all alone!"

Quoth Molly, "Sure, but that is not to say

I will not want it later, tiny pup,

And you've your own. Now just pug off, begone!"

The puppy, irrepresible, kept up

Attention to the rawhide not yet gnawn,

A watchful eye he kept on it until

I picked him up and took him all away

Off to my office, where I did fulfill,

The wishes of a friend who, in the day

Was Poncho's former mommy/midwife/girl

So glad to see his face and wee tail's curl.

What's It Sound Like, Indeed

The pitter-patter of four collie feet,

And thuds as she finds a good place to hide,

Alert me even more so than the beat

And drum of thunder, that I must abide

Another thunderstorm. At last a flash

Is visible from my seat at my desk.

They're brief but powerful, these storms; alas,

Though, little rain accomp'nies them out west

(This June so far's had plenty rain but it's

Anomalous that way). Speaking of sound,

The Mud Room of Squee brought on quite a blitz:

Blue Snowflake, welcome to my toybox. Found

On Amazon, and harnessed soon to make

Some sounds to cause th'internet to quake.

Lines Written Upon Seeing Elk Mountain For The First Time In 2009

As house-hunting, then moving, both have kept
Me to a small, small circle in Cheyenne,
It's been more than four months since I have slept
In any other town. I've had a plan
This week to hit the road at long last, and
Partake of my hometown's delights and see
My folks and friends and survey how this land
Has fared through this sere winter. Glory be!
I packed my car and strapped to it Deep Blue,
And loaded up a certain glad collie
And put Jack's tires to pavement, barreled through
A hundred miles of wind, then with jolly
Wild shouts took in a gorgeous, welcome sight,
Snowcapped and lovely in the noon sunlight.

BONUS SONNET: Night Of The Collie

A normal night was how this ev'ning seemed;

I even had a good ride on my bike.

But then in Molly's eye a blood drop gleamed.

Her patient gaze tore through me like a spike.

Good old Cheyenne, on Sunday night no vets

Are taking calls; to Fort Collins they say

Must after hours folk with injured pets

Repair or wait til 9 a.m. next day.

She start swatting at her injury

And seemed to tear it open that much more.

So off we went, two pals, my dog and me

On south to find the truth behind the gore.

It's minor, I am glad now to report.

But getting home was its own winter sport.

In Which I Prepare To Help Start A Family

Tonight, just when my work day fin'ly ends,
A charming duty calls me on a trip.
My mission is to introduce two friends
One with a puppy, one who's going to flip
When he meets Poncho Pug, the new recruit
To our small doggie circle. He will join
A motley crew: a collie, two shitzpoos,
A yorkie and another. I enjoin
This doggie-dad-to-be from shedding tears,
(But prob'ly he will anyway) when he
Meets his new pal. We'll all give forty cheers
To have a baby dog around the scene
Perturbing our friend's life and his routine.

In Which I Dither Over Doggies... Yes, Doggies, Plural

For 'tis a truth well known: a single girl
Who owns a house and has a single dog
Must need another one. So do unfurl
The arguments in favor. Lost in fog,
As far as all my friends would be concerned
Are any thoughts of feeding, walking or
Transporting two dogs in my car. I've learned
That border collies like each other more
Than they like anybody else. And yes,
The dog proposed to join us is one, too.
My Molly is a sweetheart. I confess
To guilty feelings that the times are few
When she has company. My hours are long
At work; I often feel I've done her wrong.

Ladeez and Gentilmans... The Wurld's Furst LOL Sahnet

Oh hai, no I no haz NE kitteh,
De allergeez, dey ar dooin dem rite.
Mai goggie, she haz 2 much digniteh,
To show up and be seed like dat. She mite
Sumtimes mak funneh noize but dat is all.
She never rides uh invizibul baik,
Or dribbles uh invisibul red ball.
She cud haf wrote this sahnnet if you laik.
So Iz just beein lurker over der.
Teh possibiliteh, tho, always looms
That sumday on teh fail blog, if U cair,
U kan C wut she doez to all mai rooms.
Her NME is mai vakume kleener,
And with each new 1 she just gets meener.