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 The Sonneteer Wishes Duties Were Better Done

Well, look at that, and I forgot a bag,

You say, and give your dog reproachful looks,

Like it's his fault. I know that it's a drag

To pick up his produce, and you're not crooks

Or vandals, are you? No! Next time you'll do

A better job preparing. So you tell

Yourself and both walk on. Meanwhile all through

The Greenway evidence is there pell-mell

And rolling 'crossed the concrete in the breeze.

Six month's accumulation, maybe more

Along with fresher stuff that smears. Oh, please,

It only takes a moment, this small chore,

And while it's gross, so what; it's quickly done

And then it won't lie rotting in the sun.

Do Robot Cars Dream Of Electric Sharks

Sonneteer's note: this is a more detailed account of a dream I had two days ago. I wanted to record it while it was still somewhat fresh, and also to answer those who had questions about it.

A makeshift small arena, somewhere far

From anyplace I know, they circled 'round

Each other. Mayhap more robot than car,

I knew they each had shark's minds. With no sound

They tested out each other for a time.

A feint, a probe, a whiff of engine grease,

Then whirring came a power saw blade, primed

To gut the other; soon, just to increase

The menace, from the other shark-car came

An apparatus, swift and deadly which

My vision yet preserves but I can't name.

As they tore at each other, for a switch,

The impresario turned loose dogs, who

Came to no harm midst all this battle. Phew!

In Which The Holidays Bring Mixed Emotions

It's Christmas Eve and all throughout my house

I've family and doggies underfoot.

Th'exuberance we have nothing could dowse

Not after our Cowboys went down and put

Those Fresno State curs in their place down in

New Mexico. I hope that ev'ryone

Who reads my stuff, who happily has been

Along on this weird sonnet ride's had fun,

And is as fortunate as me tonight.

I pause and think of families who've lost

A dear one, as the Tonnies did, and fight

The urge to cry. All pleasure has a cost,

I guess. But know that whatever you do

Tonight I'm thinking fondly, yes, of you.

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 Star-Gazing Becomes A Bit Of A Pun

The Launch Pad party did afford such chance
As ne'er I get: to peer through a great scope,
Joe Haldeman, my guide, there to enhance
My view of Albireo! How I hope
My life is long, such wonders it has brought!
Gord Sellar, Andy Duncan, Sigler too,
Stargazers with me. Oh what lives we've got
Beneath such wonders, there in orange and blue!
That to Wyoming Julie Jones was drawn
Along with all these others stuns me still.
I could have kept them chatting until dawn
But they have greater pow'rs of mind and will
Than I as yet can muster. So a toast:
The Launch Pad, and Mike Brotherton, our host!

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.

In Which I Contemplate Oregon Tides

A tide recedes and suddenly great rocks

Come up for air. At least I think there were

Some rocks beneath th'encrusted life and flocks

Of seagulls circling overhead. With her

Dog Jack a-snapping at the waves my sis

And I explored the slipp'ry rocks to find

The sort of things I'd been most sad to miss

The day before. What I had had in mind

Were tide pools like we saw so long ago

In California when I was a kid.

But here tide rocks have much the same, and so

I got my fill of starfish, mussels, did

Observe anenomes, one tiny crab,

And rarer still: a wild sea-going lab.

In Which I Ponder The Daily Fetch-A-Thon That Is My Sister's Life With Her New Dog

The newest member of our fam'ly's pack

Of crazy dogs, mayhap the craziest

Is Krissy's, a lab mix, whose name is Jack.

Built like a tank, excitable and, yes,

Relentless as a charge of army ants.

His rubber ball must constantly be thrown,

Best into mud or grass, or bedding plants

Along the fence. Long after one has grown

Well sick of playing, after Jack's big tongue

Is coated in a slick of mud and grass

Well mixed with drool, that ball must still be flung

And flung some more, or else Jack will harrass

One with his slimy toys all day and night.

It's what he loves the most, as is his right.

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.

BONUS SONNET: The Night Of The Pug

The pug that will be Kevin's lives quite far

From Cheyenne town; to see him took a trip

That we were glad to make in Kevin's car,

But Michael took his own 'cause he's too hip

To wait around to watch us old folks coo.

'Twas fine until we made the journey back,

And Michael slid right off the road and through

A fence. Looked like a crash! My heart attack!

Call 911! A deputy arrived,

With wisecracks in his police car, and coached

My boys through their first tire change, contrived

To make it all quite funny. Then he broached

The subject, pouring on the drawling flatt'ry,

Of just how dead was our poor Kevin's batt'ry.

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.

A Turn No Longer Taken

At Hilltop Avenue, I do not turn;
I stay on Dell Range for one more half-mile
To reach the place where now my home-fires burn.
I pass that old left turn with quite a smile!
I smile still more when soon I see ahead
The famous doggie on his famous roof
(A navigation aid I choose instead
Of street names). A contented dog is proof,
I think, of a contented home. One block
Past him I turn; Hilltop now far behind,
And I approach a proper house. The shock
Of knowing that it's mine's still new. I find
It not too hard to bear. It's got that spark
Of joy; gone is the Vertc'al Trailer Park.

In Which I Ponder The Virtues (?) Of My Mother's Dog

Wee Missy ShitzPoo is my mother's dog.
A poodle combo bloodline, far from pure
Is hers; a mix of traits that leaves agog
Whomever she may meet. We are not sure
If Missy's fluffy tail is a Shitzu
Or Lhasa Apso trait, but it is cute.
She flounces it around and sniffs, as to
Regain attention lost. She's far from mute
(Just ask the passing cars behind my fence
Whose every move she orders with shrill care).
Her little round-eyed gaze is quite intense
When she wants to join us on couch or chair,
Or start a game of tug-of-war or chase
She knows we can't say no to that darn face.