Dog

I wanted to tell you a story about the dog that lives on my street. He is a huge, lanky, black German Shepherd named Ziggy. He is almost two and runs like a Gumby dog with no bones in his legs. He has huge ears and his tongue lolls out of his mouth whenever he runs towards me. I honestly think his wagging tail propels him forwards, otherwise he’d move like a grocery cart with wheels going off in different directions. Yesterday, I went on a quick walk around my block, and Ziggy saw me. He often hangs out in the yard in front of his home. When he saw me, he started speaking a doggy language that consisted of prolonged howls and chewing barks; I felt like he was gently scolding me and also saying "“I am so happy to see you! My life is complete!” Then he got fixated on a giant fly and trickle of water running down the sidewalk across the street from me. It made my day just to see him. Dogs don’t understand social distancing. I wish I had a dog right now. Anyway, just imagine a giant black German Shepherd that runs with legs all akimbo. It will make you smile.

"Cashew" sounds like a sneeze

Squirrel: "Hey, what kind of nut is that? Looks good!"
Rodney, mouth full: "Caffmewff"
Squirrel: "what?"
Rodney, still chewing: "CaffMEEEWWFFF"
Squirrel: "what?"
Rodney: "CASHEW!!"
*all the squirrels run away from Rodney and his nut stash*

Held Inside

Skies knit together,
Threads unraveling,
Fall to the Earth
as tears.
The thunder of
a breaking heart,
after a silence of years.

Depth

Someone recently read my blog/poetry and told me, "you have surprising depth." I wondered at that, after they told me that I seemed like such a happy, positive person in real life. What is "depth" and what is surprising about it? Everyone has secret heartaches that have ripped them asunder, and their public smiles and courage to navigate the world amidst their pain and grief does not mean they are not "deep"? I am trying to understand this, and why there is this division of what is meaningful and what is not. We all live lives of courage and pain, with love and surrender. All of it is deep. What we share is a gift, and what we keep to ourselves to heal from is our own.

Polly's Pet

"Polly's Pet" was one of my favorite books when I was little, and I remember my grandma reading it to me (this was before I could read). It is amazing how illustrations you see as a child seem so huge and real, like you might slip into them if you look at them long enough. The story is about an unhappy cat. His owner, Polly, dresses him up in baby clothes. He hates it, but he never tells her to stop dressing him up because he knows that it makes her happy. He lets resentment build and build until he finally runs away to go skiing and ice skating and doesn't tell her where he is. However, after a while, he realizes how lonely he feels, even though he gets to do everything he wants to do. One page, I remember, always made me cry as a child (below). The story has a happy ending, but there is a lot of truth to Polly and me and our greatest fears and sorrows; it is strange how stories can reach something in us and speak for something we can't quite say. Even more so that it comes from a children's book.

Ruffins McFluffmaster

I doodled a dog character and wrote a little, silly poem to go with it...I present "Ruffins McFluffmaster":

Ruffins McFluffmaster, ruffs through his fluff,
Though it's rough having fluff fluffing off him
Wherever he goes, and onto dark clothes, where it shows up
as white as the first winter snows.
These are some of his fluffy fluff woes:
His fluff always tickles and sticks to his nose,
and he has tufts of hair between all of his toes.
But wouldn't you know, or even suppose?
Hugging his fluff close will cure all your sadness,
but brushing fluff off clothes will incur sure madness!

*he is making this face, because someone asked him, "why are you so fluffy!?" He doesn't know why.