A sweet little song in the middle of your poem. Yes! This is exactly how we paint a fence. And the image of your fierce, but half-hearted canine hunters deciding it was easier to mooch cookies than chase deer is priceless, Sue. Your work inspires.
I liked that little riff as well. I wonder if Sue ever read the book about a kid called Tom Sawyer? A diligent reader can find a lot of good fence painting advice for free in it.
Oh yes, we've all either read or heard Tom Sawyer's fence con game. To bad we can't train dogs how to paint fences. Some of them have really great brush tails.
Except for her lack of opposing thumbs, my Aussie would enthusiastically paint a fence. She is a constant stream of “can I help?” “Can I help?” “Can I help?”
LOLOLOLOL! Our Borderline was so energetic, a trainer gave us a prescription for Prozac. My daughter had an interesting discussion with the pharmacist about giving Prozac to a three-year-old and convincing them the recipient was a dog. Cinch would herd everyting, including the couch and coffee table, the cat, and even the house, running around it (personal best) seventeen times. Poor creature needed a herd of sheep desperately.
They are gloriously monomaniacal. Does yours bound instead of run? I heard they will bound across the backs of a band of sheep to get to the other side. And they are always so happy, idiot happy.
Many years ago, my father in law built an industrial strength swing set for our kids that remains rigid and unmovable to this day in our backyard. It’s indestructible and I’ve often thought one could use it as an engine hoist, if one’s cultural inclinations ran in the direction of working on derelict motor cars in the back yard.
Lately, however, my Dougie Sue has discovered that if she runs up to the heavy canvas seats, grabs them with her teeth while continuing her gallop, she will rise up into the air until she runs out of momentum and returns back to the earth, then circles back to repeat her flights into the sky. By the hour. With her irrepressible idiot happiness. Boundless, ecstatic, idiot happiness.
Holy merde! Does she still have teeth? But I can see it happening and the long bleed-out of energy it provides ... eventually. Cinch was more of a runner, a manic claw tapper as she followed us through the house. We adopted her when she was three and rescued from a home where she was supposed to be a sevie dog for a crippled woman. Can you even imagine? No wonder she was nuts. At least we had an acre she could run around and we'd take her for walks in the BLM desert a block away. My daughter would return with her from ten-mile runs and the dog would still have energy left. She would be a flash of black and white amongst the sage. I actually post a piece on Ring Around the Basin about our last hike, but she was leashed and couldn't run off. When I let her run free, she would disappear and wouldn't come when called. As she aged, though, it was sad to see all that energy wane to the point we had to carry her into the vet's. That was a black day indeed.
thirdwaydone .... halfwaydone .... almostdone ....onebyone
A sweet little song in the middle of your poem. Yes! This is exactly how we paint a fence. And the image of your fierce, but half-hearted canine hunters deciding it was easier to mooch cookies than chase deer is priceless, Sue. Your work inspires.
I liked that little riff as well. I wonder if Sue ever read the book about a kid called Tom Sawyer? A diligent reader can find a lot of good fence painting advice for free in it.
Oh yes, we've all either read or heard Tom Sawyer's fence con game. To bad we can't train dogs how to paint fences. Some of them have really great brush tails.
Except for her lack of opposing thumbs, my Aussie would enthusiastically paint a fence. She is a constant stream of “can I help?” “Can I help?” “Can I help?”
My daughter thinks my dog maybe on the spectrum.
LOLOLOLOL! Our Borderline was so energetic, a trainer gave us a prescription for Prozac. My daughter had an interesting discussion with the pharmacist about giving Prozac to a three-year-old and convincing them the recipient was a dog. Cinch would herd everyting, including the couch and coffee table, the cat, and even the house, running around it (personal best) seventeen times. Poor creature needed a herd of sheep desperately.
They are gloriously monomaniacal. Does yours bound instead of run? I heard they will bound across the backs of a band of sheep to get to the other side. And they are always so happy, idiot happy.
Many years ago, my father in law built an industrial strength swing set for our kids that remains rigid and unmovable to this day in our backyard. It’s indestructible and I’ve often thought one could use it as an engine hoist, if one’s cultural inclinations ran in the direction of working on derelict motor cars in the back yard.
Lately, however, my Dougie Sue has discovered that if she runs up to the heavy canvas seats, grabs them with her teeth while continuing her gallop, she will rise up into the air until she runs out of momentum and returns back to the earth, then circles back to repeat her flights into the sky. By the hour. With her irrepressible idiot happiness. Boundless, ecstatic, idiot happiness.
She exhausts me.
Holy merde! Does she still have teeth? But I can see it happening and the long bleed-out of energy it provides ... eventually. Cinch was more of a runner, a manic claw tapper as she followed us through the house. We adopted her when she was three and rescued from a home where she was supposed to be a sevie dog for a crippled woman. Can you even imagine? No wonder she was nuts. At least we had an acre she could run around and we'd take her for walks in the BLM desert a block away. My daughter would return with her from ten-mile runs and the dog would still have energy left. She would be a flash of black and white amongst the sage. I actually post a piece on Ring Around the Basin about our last hike, but she was leashed and couldn't run off. When I let her run free, she would disappear and wouldn't come when called. As she aged, though, it was sad to see all that energy wane to the point we had to carry her into the vet's. That was a black day indeed.
Thank you, Sharron. Life near the wild is always unpredictable. And the animals become neighbors after a while.
Lovely poem Sue. BTW I am loving your book and how it puts one in touch with the nature around them.
Thank you, Ed. I appreciate that, especially coming from a man. I wondered how the character's issues would resonate with a variety of readers.