Narrative Dog Poems

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Details | Narrative |
There was a little dog one day,
Who ambled on his aimless way.
He didn't have a house or home:
A doggy bed or fine meat bone.

His coat was mats and full of fleas.
He owned no boy to try and please.
Near garbage bin was where he sat,
Along with one sad, homeless cat.

His human threw him out you see.
This person wasn't you or me.
For we would never be so cruel,
Or act like some poor, heartless fool.

The winter came and with it cold.
Dog's airy ways were put on hold.
He shivered in the dark of night:
A sad, pathetic, needy sight.

And then a storm blew in with snow.
It left dog with no place to go.
He sat and whined beside the road,
For someone kind to lift his load.

Then came a car -- slow passing by.
A young boy warm and loved inside.
He saw the freezing, half grown pup 
And begged they stop and pick him up.

The winter passed and next the spring.
Now please behold a wondrous thing.
A boy and dog romp on the grass.
All mats and fleas now in the past.

It's joy and love and fun we see. 
The way that God meant it should be.
Both run and play, all pain now past;
This bond of dog and boy shall last.

The sad thing is allotted time
Of man and dog will just not rhyme.
The boy will know sad loss of friend,
Long years before his own sure end.

Then in a time that's yet to be,
They'll reunite both young and free.
Forever will their bond go on,
In timeless sunsets, countless dawns.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel.  All so familiar, so ordinary.  Just like every other day he mused.  Nothing new.  Nothing special.

Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him.  But in reality, he was bored.  It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation.  Too many days.   Too much disappointment.  He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of  their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first.  It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.

Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade.  In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with.  You know the type.  Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog.  Kids poking their fingers  through the kennel screen or banging on it.  Some even making barking sounds.  He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.

Walter was very picky.  Set in his ways after so many years.  He had had it good for  a long time.  An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself.  No tricks. No stunts.  Just long naps and daily walks.  A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner.  He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom.  Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together.  And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.

But those days were gone now.  First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back.  The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly.  The walks became less frequent.  Walter did what he could.   He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too.  At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.

He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye.  I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.”  Walter could see the tears in his eyes.  He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist.  It was obvious there were no alternatives.  And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner.  But he was going to miss him.  It was not going to be easy to adjust.

But adjust he did.   He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs  trot past his cage with light hearts and  new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations.  But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound.  Everyone wanted the young ones.  So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.

He heard them before the saw them.  ”Honey” the voice said.  ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.”  Walters ears perked up a little.  ”Do I know them” he thought.  ”They seem to know me”.  I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.

“It is him” the man said.  ”Walter, how you doing boy?  Do you remember me?”

And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him.  He used to live right across the street.  He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket.  With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing.  It was good to see an old friend.

“What do you say hon” the man said.  ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”

Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement.  ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”

The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter?  Would you like to go home with us?”

Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more.  A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew.  What was there not to like.

Soon the woman returned and the gate opened.  A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention.  Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off.  ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought.  ”Good luck and goodbye”.

As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter.  There is someone I am going to take you to see.  I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”

Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about.  And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.

Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
The dog seen a rabbit and how he did chase
to catch that little critter and boy what a race

But one thing that rabbit knew as he ran away
he was not going to be lunch for that dog today

Around the tree and  into the bushes he went
the dog was right after that little rabbit's scent

the dog was so busy that he never did see
that big old  hornet nest  way up in the tree

running and barking and making a sound
made all the hornets start buzzing around

They all made a dive and together they flew
when they  hit the dog he knew he was through

He made up his mind right there and then
he would never go chasing that rabbit again

Copyright © Oma Bennett | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
Fourteen came and went that year and as his light grew dim;
I thought of time so swiftly passed since life gave breath to him.
I stroked him and I held him near, remembering moments flown;
The sunny day, late in spring, when first I brought him home.

This tale not told of canine nerve or valor laced with fame,
Instead the story of two friends and what their lives became.
A story of long years attending one another’s cause,
Baths and brushes, meals and play, wet fur and muddy paws.

A young dog then, almost a pup: all full of fun and play.
Embedded in my heart so deep; I hoped he'd always stay.
Each early morn we'd walk our walk to tend the needs of day, 
Before I earned our daily bread, those many miles away.

And every time I left my home, the last that I would see,
A faithful face in window space: waiting there for me.
Still sitting there in patient pose at time of each day’s end.
The little dog back in his place; my loyal, canine friend.

After dinner we would take our evening walk for two:
Companions seeing seasons pass, as time so quickly flew.
Then I retired from my work, now with him every day.
Our walks grew few and shorter, with less, much gentler play.

Soft brown eyes at one time bright, grew milky with his failing sight.
Ears still perked for every sound, began to let the old dog down.
Then came the day his body said his spirit should be free: 
Allowed to soar to lofty heights, while I must stay and grieve.

With all the love and courage, the good Lord could provide;
I stood and held my dear old friend: I wept and then he died.
I sit, reflect, relive our time; I was his joy and he was mine.
And with all this, these thoughts old friend; I'll tell you now,
as I told you then . . .

On down the road and around a bend, where there's no painful, 
certain end; God's will, we'll do it all again!

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
He seemed very much like those white dogs before,
With a raggedy coat, pointed ears and much more.
But the likeness soon ended to those dogs gone away.
For he'd never known kindness or love in his day.

He didn't know words, didn't even know stairs.
His nose, from the kennel, was chaffed of its hair.
Boredom was passed licking fur from his paws.
The pads on his feet bordered long, ragged claws.

He paced back and forth mostly all of each day:
Slept in a tight ball to keep cold nights away.
Wary of children and grown men alike: 
Startling sounds made him cringe out of sight.

He was hungry and thin: I could feel every bone.
He stayed by me like glue and was scared left alone.
He wolfed down his food in an uneasy rush.
He didn't know combs and felt fear of the brush.

But time has now passed since the dog came to stay
From that harsh, lonely kennel on a hill far away.
This little white dog now seems mostly like them:
Those former white terriers, my sweet, loyal friends.

He now spends his time . . like before . .  by my side.
But something has changed, for he's not there to hide.
With all of this good there is even much more.
He now plays with his toys and will ask for the door.

He eats with good manners, sleeps sound in his bed:
Stretched out in contentment, fun dreams in his head.
He loves his car outings and with each early spring,
Explores the old pathways our daily walk brings.

I'm so happy to have him, as he sits on my lap,
Or sleeps by my chair for his afternoon nap.
He never will know all of the bad things again.
His life will be happy with me as his friend.

Yet as good as it's been for this dog to find me.
To learn love and to trust and from anguish be free.
I too have been blessed one more time from above,
By Him sending another white dog here to love.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
The rabbit 
Two houses side by side
One couple had a rabbit
One couple had a dog
The dog loved the rabbit
Was next door all the time 
The couple with the rabbit 
Went away on vacation 
Before they left 
Their rabbit died
They buried it in their backyard 
The dog was very sad 
Dug it up and brought it home
The dogs owners were mortified 
Thought their dog had killed 
The neighbors rabbit 
So they washed the mud off
Fluffed it up and put it back in the cage
When the neighbors returned 
They were astonished 
To see the rabbit back in the cage
All white and fluffy as though never been buried !

Copyright © Tanis Troutman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
The dog looks pleasant, desperate for praise
and attention.
It shivers in the cold, tied to a chair
It cannot go far.
It's owner, holding a cigarette, pours some crumbs from a used bag
A treat for the dog.
The crumbs go unnoticed, for the dog looks up at the passers-by
desperate for praise and attention.

Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
                    I’ll Never Understand Humans   

   Hi, My name is Lady, and I live a dogs life, yes I’m a lazy mutt, but, 
before you go getting the wrong idea, I’m integral in the well being of
family. My main interests are feeding time, walkies,sniffing dog poo, feeding time,
rolling in dog poo and feeding time,believe me, I earn my living here.
  I’m the family entertainer, the kids dress me in silly clothes, yes I know,
humiliating, but I enjoy the happiness and laughter it brings them, I do my party 
pieces for visitors, the begging with the outstretched paw, the standing on the hind
legs and hopping, the rolling over, I don’tmind the rolling over, I just imagine I’m 
rolling in dog poo,and I’m no fool, I expect reward for my efforts, I call that tidbits
feeding time.
   Then I just laze and wait for my master to come home, pah, how that sticks in the
throat, but I play the part with a big welcome, ass wobble, tail waggle, bounce about,
he seems toappreciate all this, maybe coz nobody else bothers lol.  Soon I know it 
will be feeding time and walkies and more dog poo sniffing, well, it’s nice to know
who’s been about. Hey get this, when I do a poo he picks it up, I could understand
if he rolled in it, but picking it up, what’s that all about?
  He’s not always been happy with me though, the time he gave me that lovely
warm blanket when I was a pup, and I ate it, and the big fight I had with that
horrid black dog up the street, he only saw the end of that encounter, he missed
the part where the brute tried to rape me, it was self defence I tells yer. He’d have
witnessed the whole incident if he hadn’t been chatting to that blonde bint with 
the obedient German Shepherd, you know the sort, sits there close to his mistress 
looking all haughty and dignified, while I’m sniffing her bottom, never did care for 
that dog, or his poo come to that.
   The best though, was that holiday in Essex, when he insisted on taking me on this 
humongous walk in the footsteps of John Constable, talk about booooring, till on our
way back we crossed a field that had just been slurried, ooooh I smelled so gorgeous,
I was in doggie heaven, he was somewhere between mad and a funny vivid colour,
but we got over it. Sometimes I look into those big sad eyes of his and wonder just 
what’s going on in there. Guess what though; for all his faults, I don’t think anybody 
loves him more than I do. Oooo, someone is opening a candy bar, tidbits feeding time.
 See yer ………

Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Narrator:  I take you now inside the mind of a ten year old miniature Eskimo dog who
 lives happily inside a Rambler house with a fenced back yard that serves as his special 
area to periodically run freely when his “favorite person”(Love) puts him out, always 
shouting “go pee!” to him. Strangely, Ollyver does not really seem to understand that 
command. Perhaps to him it means “go play” since often he is later caught inside the 
house in compromising positions, causing his owner to rush him again to the door to 
the back yard!

Furthermore, new computer technology has enabled Ollyver’s owner (his “Love”) 
to come up with a crude translation for Ollyver’s stream of thoughts. She knows his behavior the best, but still she must guess at a few things inside his brain due to his limited range of vocabulary and his typical doggy unconcern with that ! So now she has just let Ollyver out the back porch to go pee. . . 

Ollyver:  I go out! I go out! Run run run . . . Run here. . . Run there. . . Strange man 
by fence. . .  I can’t get to strange man. What you doing by my yard? Leave here leave here leave here. . .  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . . . .

Owner’s voice from the porch: Go pee, Ollyver!!!

Ollyver:  always “go pee” she say. . . Look look at me. . . I go pee . . . run here . . . 
run there. . . (Ollyver continues running back and forth yelping at the stranger who 
has since gotten past the fence as he walks along the canal road) I go pee I go pee. . . 

Narrator: Ollyver runs back to the house, never having actually gone pee. He runs to 
sit by his owner, whom he perceives as his favorite human. She is eating a bowl of ice 
cream on the bed. 

Ollyver:  I go in. . . see  yum-yum milk. . . I want I want I want 

Narrator: Ollyver goes toward the bowl and gets pushed away, so he stares with big 
anxious eyes going back and forth to Love and the bowl of yum-yum. 

Ollyver: I want I want I want. . . Give me give me give me. . . Ohhhhh. . .  Yum-yum  
getting smaller and smaller. . . Ohhhhhhhhh

Narrator:  Ollyver’s Love pats his head and lets him lick what remains at the bottom of the bowl. After he finishes, he snuggles by Love and beings to lick her hand and arm.

Ollyver: kiss kiss kiss kiss. . . Love Love Love

Narrator: Suddenly the door bell rings, and he dashes off the bed to the front door 
with his Love following behind him, yelling: “No Ollyver!” He peers through the window and sees a stranger.

Ollyver:  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip go away strange lady go away strange lady 
go away strange lady yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . .. 

Narrator:  The door bell rings again and Ollyver runs to his favorite corner of the family 
room, where he begins to do the very thing his owner had wanted him to do previously 
when she let him out into the back yard. Her voice yells shrilly “No, Ollyver” and she 
shoves him to the back door saying: “OUT here, Ollyver. Go pee out HERE.”  Ollyver 
then runs across the yard going back and forth, back and forth.

Ollyver: see see see, Love. . . I go pee I go pee

**For the contest of  Just That Archaic Poet:This is my personification of Ollyver, the pet that gave me the greatest unconditional love of any pet I ever owned. Because we could never train him (I even hired a trainer to help us) and because of other complications, I had to give him up when he was around ten years old. I missed  him so much. and even my cat, Razzmatazz cannot replace him for pure affection. I gave him to a place that promised a no-kill policy and to this day, I am hoping he had a great life until the end!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Teddy was our mongrel dog who kept coming back to stay,
When my parents gave him up because we had to move away.
Three times my father took him back to live at his new home,
But we'd find him on our doorstep when he got the urge to roam.

Then my father heard the dog was being treated rather bad,
Which made my sister and myself more than a little sad.
And the next time Teddy sat and begged, in front of our back door,
My father then determined he'd be going home no more.

So Teddy moved back in with us and now lived three flights up.
And running free came easy for this mongrel, collie pup.
With not a thing to tie him down, he roamed both to and fro.
The way dogs were allowed to roam, near seventy years ago.

Some dogs back then lived lives of sin and Teddy fit the bill.
He chased the cars and chased the girls and both with equal skill.
But the thing that bothered most of all, was Teddy on the street.      
To see him chase a car would cause one's heart to skip some beats.

He'd never chase one from behind, but up front, near the wheel.
Then wrap his head around the tire: I'd feel my blood congeal.
And I would cover up my face, besot with fear and dread,
Just knowing when I looked again, our Teddy would be dead.

But never did this happen; that old scamp would beat the odds.
A gimpy leg now, here and there . . old Teddy had his gods.
Yes, dogs chased cars, it is a fact, in an earlier place and time.
Some did it good, some did it bad, but Teddy made it rhyme.

There came a day things did go wrong and Teddy got a smack.
I saw the proof on our front porch, where poor old Teddy sat.
Right then and there, from what I viewed, the dog had lost a race,
When I saw that his left eyeball, was now hanging down his face.

My sister knelt there with him, a fresh sandwich shoved aside.
She pushed the eyeball back in place, while I stood there and cried.
His eye stayed in and Teddy lived for a few more years to come:
Chasing cars and tramping round; a total canine bum.

And when his time began to wane and father threatened death;
My sister then decided she'd determine his last breath.
She walked him up some rail road tracks to the outskirts of our town.
With a twenty two long she shot him dead and left him in the ground.

That night she faced our father with the truth of what she'd done.
And said "you'd not kill my old friend . . to me he was someone."
So now his days were ended and he'd trod all he would trod,
With no complaints from him or us; he'd beat most all the odds.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care

Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland   
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand

Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground           

Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats   
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap

Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared

Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend 
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"

Copyright © Rob Carter | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
My son had come back home to stay for just a little while.
He brought with him his terrier friend;  a lively, puppy child.
The skinny, little half grown dog came bounding through my door.
I couldn’t realize at the time, all he’d become . .  and more.

For sure he tipped the apple cart when first he entered in.
His lively spirit made me think, I’d not know peace again.
The walks with my old terrier dog were all that I could want.
Soon slow and steady, calm, serene, became a grueling jaunt.

Old dog sniffed each bush and tree, as young dog plunged ahead.
While I was pulled this way and that and mostly seeing red.
And God forbid another dog come ambling on our way;
My stress filled walk would soon become, an all out frenzied fray.

He plagued the cats, barked at the door: he loved to sit and howl.
While I just tore my hair out: yet I found that all this while;
He simply grew to grow on me despite his naughty ways.
And as the time began to pass we had some better days.

While in his quiet moments; he just loved my generous lap.
Liked to have his belly rubbed: lay with me for a nap.
He liked to give wet kisses, till I had to tell him, “No."
Loved the car: turned inside out, whenever I said “Go”.

My son moved on, as sons will do, endeavoring to be free.
And by this time we both agreed; young dog should stay with me.
And when old dog forsook my side, because God said he must;
I found the young dog next to me gave all his love and trust.

He stayed beside me night and day and never asked to leave.
He seemed to sense I needed him, along with time to grieve.
I then began to understand what a nice dog lived with me, 
For in the old dog’s shadow; he’d become all he could be!

But fate became unkind to us and time was not his friend.
The young dog only stayed awhile, then moved on once again.
And this time I was all alone, with no friend by my side.
My days were filled with missing him, while nights I'd lay and cry.

I know they are together now, in a place God made for them:
These happy creatures sent to earth to be my loyal friends.
I know their spirits run and play; nevermore will they know pain.
Because of this, despite my grief; I’d not wish them back again.

But I’ll remember each of them, through all my days that pass.
It's really hard for me to say, whose loved first and whose loved last?

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I sat outside at end of day and watched the night close in.
A year had come; a year had gone, since death came for my friend.
The sadness so well known by now crept softly to the fore. 
The tears spilled from my eyelids like so many times before.

A small white dog sat by my chair: remainder of a well matched pair.
This little dog I loved so well could not replace the one who fell.
My thoughts were of the absent one, my Boggs, who’d left my side.
I wondered had he been near me and knew the times I cried?

I asked him for a tiny sign that I might hear or see,
That he was in the midst of us, young Casey dog and me.
But then I felt so foolish: commenced to think out loud.
“Oh sure, you’re going to see him in that single, passing cloud.”

And even as I spoke the words my eyes were drawn that way.
The sky had darkened deeply with the closing of the day.
A cloud hung there before me, white and large and clear.
The side view of a canine head, its eyes and mouth dark smears.

Its pointed ears were wispy, it’s nose that of a dog.
It hung there in the twilight sky: the image of old Boggs.
I then felt thoughts within my mind: thoughts heard, as if were spoke.
And still the cloud remained the same, did not change shape like smoke.

“You see I’m fine, I’m here with you, at times you think of me.
My new life is a happy one. My spirit now is free.
Stop knowing such great sadness and stop feeling so bereft.
Give Casey all the love you have, for the time that he has left.” 

These thoughts would end the chapter of the sharpest of my grief.
My love could now be Casey’s and I felt a strange relief.
I wondered at the message though, of Casey’s time now left?
The answer came before year three, at the time of Casey’s death.

I sit outside at end of day and watch the night close in.
The years have come; the years have gone, since Boggs came for his friend . . 

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
The morning greets me with birds at my window
They peck at the glass, 
they chirp and harass,
"The sun is up, the grass smells clean! 
The flowers so pretty they must be seen!" 

I pull the covers back up to my chin, 
the cold cotton pillow feels good on my skin. 
But the longer I lie here the more I realize, 
the coffee is calling; I really must rise.

With eyes barely open, I saunter about. 
The kitty is purring and happy as trout.  
My shepherds come running, their tails wagging fast. 
They want to go outside, and go running past.  
I open the door and nearly knocked over,
They run off the deck and into the clover. 

I walk to the table, 
all dressed with pink roses, 
waiting for barking, and kissed by wet noses. 
I smell the aroma of Colombian beans, 
my percolator singing, while I get on my jeans.

I'm feeling quite artful, 
the day has begun.  
The birds are still chirping, 
the yard in full sun.

The coffee tastes great, and as I sit here, 
the birds at my window, the cat in the chair, 
there's one place that's calling, with north light galore, 
just past the den, where Big Bear will snore.  
My studio corner, my wonderful place, 
where dreams are realized, and canvas to face.

The day has begun
It's a spring morning

-Mary Susan Vaughn

Copyright © Mary Susan Vaughn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along, 
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.

Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall, 
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.

Mama cat was even so bold 
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;  
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat  
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.

Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws. 
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.

Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,  
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run. 

Written by:  Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place

Copyright © Carolyn Henderson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
All I remember is going into the garage to get the snow shovel.
I am not even sure how much of the driveway I managed to shovel.  Apparently, I was lying in the snow for several hours before one of the neighbors noticed me.

The next thing I remember is waking up from a deep sleep to the sounds of beeping machines with tubes and wires stuck into and on my body.

As I slowly regained consciousness and my eyes were able to focus, I was aware of a young, bald child looking down on me.

“Hi,” said the smiling, angelic face.  Given the child’s age and complete baldness, I could not tell whether they were a boy or a girl.  And, with the tube inserted in my throat and taped to my mouth, I was in no position to return their salutation.

I tried to remember who this child might be and why they were here with me.  I guess my eyes displayed my confusion as the child said, “I'm Elizabeth.  They let me walk around the hospital a little.  Sometimes I sneak out of the oncology wing and look for people who have no visitors.  I like to make sure someone is there when they wake up.  I know I always like to see someone when I wake up from my operations.”

She just stood above me smiling.  I then noticed she was holding my hand.

“Sometimes it is hard for family members or friends to come visit.  Some people just really don’t like hospitals.  And, I guess”, she said, “not everybody has someone that close to them.  So, I like to become their visitor for them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind.  Although it did make me embarrassed to realize that I fit in the latter category; I didn’t have anybody that close to me.

She just smiled at me and petted my hand as the medications worked their magic on me and I started to drift back off to sleep.  I heard a nurse come into the room and say, “There you are, Honey.  You need to get back to your room now and leave this nice man be.”

The next time I regained consciousness, I noticed a hand drawn picture of a house with a Christmas tree out front with a note that said, “I hope you get home before Christmas” and was signed by Elizabeth.

Each new day, I was welcomed by another drawing of Christmas scenes; smiling faces; reindeer; and, starry skies.  All containing a happy note and all signed, ”Love, Elizabeth”.

After ten days of recovery and following the insertion of two stents into my heart, I was well enough to return to my empty home.  On my way out of the hospital, I stopped by the Oncology Wing to say good-bye and thank you to Elizabeth.  When I asked the nurse at the floor station where I could find Elizabeth, she replied, “Oh I'm sorry, Elizabeth is no longer with us.”

I then said, “Well can you tell me her home address or phone number, I would really like to thank her for visiting me in my hospital room this past week.”

The look on the nurse’s face indicated that I misunderstood what she had meant.  Elizabeth was no longer with us.

Sadly, I started walking towards the exit.

Just before I got to the elevator, I noticed an open door with a man lying on his bed, with tubes in his nose and throat and nobody else in the room with him.  I went into his room and sat in the empty chair.

When he opened his eyes two hours later, I said, “Hi, I'm Joe.  I noticed there was nobody here when you were brought back from your operation and I know how nice it is to see a smiling face when you wake up, so I thought I would sit here with you for a while.  I hope you don’t mind.”

He squeezed my hand; gave a slight smile; and, slowly drifted off back to sleep.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
I find it hard to tell you of the love I felt for them:
The gentle little creatures that I came to call my friends.
They joined me at a time of life when human touch grew sparse.
When memories of some folks I'd loved were best left in the past.

A time with children leaving home to spread their wings and fly,
While I remained upon the ground to wave a fond goodbye.
I felt the good Lord knew I'd need someone to love just then;
One for laughter, one for joy and both to be my friend.

As shadows of the day crept in and home meant only me;
Two faces framed in window pane were what each night I’d see.
Returning to a quiet house to find them there alone,
Lit up the pathway to my heart and made my house my home.

The daily walks, the food, the care, the petting, and the play:
Led me from my former life, to a life I have today.
Their the first things that were tended when I woke up each new morn
And the last face that was seen by me until a brand new dawn.

I'm not ashamed to tell the truth; they slept upon my bed.
Snuggled up against my side while I clung to the edge.
And when I felt just out of sorts, as happened frequently.
Concern was in their caring eyes, kind head upon each knee.

Yes; I have known all kinds of love, but this one's not the least.
Some brought laughter, some brought joy, but this love brought me peace.
And on each day they went away, per orders from above;
I thanked the Lord for sending me, 'This Other Kind Of Love'.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

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It’s the end of year three since the old dog went free;
A rough patch that has softened with time.
I recalled it today . . his going away:
One bad verse in a beautiful rhyme.

Once again I shed tears remembering those years:
Peace of mind then eluded my day.
The other dog too, who soon followed him through:
Both forever live on . . far away.

Now a new girl and boy strive to bring the same joy
And replace that which never can be:
The return of my friends from where heaven begins:
Once again, just those two friends and me.

Let’s pretend it were so . . there'd be changes you know;
For no more would there be only three.
We would share each new day in the old fun-fulled way,
My two old friends . .  my new friends . . and me.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

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"I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells. " Dr. Seuss

     When I was a little girly girl, I would go to Grampie's farm.  It was far, far

away and up a hill, then around a big bend in the road.  Grampie had lots and lots

of animals.  Like  b e a u t i f u l  horses and mellow cows and all colors of chickens.

And he had a brown rooster, named Ruddy.  Now, Ruddy really, REALLY liked me,

and he thought he was a dog.  He followed me around the farm all day. He was no

normal rooster, he was a roosterdog!

     In the barn and out of the barn and all around the barn.  One day he followed

me into the house at lunch time.  Grampie said, "NO, no roosters in the house!"

But Grammie smiled and said, " its okay, if he is good."  Ruddy stayed under my

chair and was good except for the cluck (CLUCKING) gulp.

    When I watched television, so did Ruddy, curled up beside me like a dog.  And

when I went to bed, Ruddy followed me upstairs and down the hall to my room.

Grampie would say, in his big voice, "NO, no roosters in your bed!" But Grammie, 

said, "oh its okay, he can listen to the bedtime story too."  Grampie would just huff, 

like Grampie's do sometimes.

     After I fell asleep, and Ruddy was all curled up beside me snoring, or was that 

clucking, Grampie would tip toe into my room and snatch the roosterdog.  " Back

to the barn, my friend, for the last time, you are NOT a dog!"

     The next morning, Ruddy would be waiting for me at the door and it would all

happen again for me and the rooster who thought he was a dog.   The End

"Don't cry because its over. Smile because it happened." Dr. Seuss.

May 20, 2016


For the contest, Get Your Dr. Seuss On
sponsor, The Seeker

Honorable Mention 

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Blinded, By The Light

If you can truly find yourself you can be truly happy 
if not, well the world will eat you and beat you until you cry no more...
I see most people crying. Me, I ran out of tears and found myself the hard way. 

I survived long enough to hear the Nightbird sing, a drunk rooster crow and
the coyote catch that damn roadrunner-in my dreams..
After that a light blinded me and within that blindness came a realization,
that three things are important -  God, love and family. 
All the rest is window dressing and leftover refried beans with no damn chili's...

Every morn that rising sun tells me , get up and be worthy of the air you breathe
Stand as tall as you can and never look down on a man unless extending a helping hand to him.
To do less is not only lazy but selfish and rude. Find a gift to give somebody, anybody at least every week if not every day. Does not have to be great , could be as easy as giving kind words when they are needed.

This was pretty much all told to me as a 10 year old by my grandfather. Some of it I picked up on my own after living a damn wild young life!  With too many shallow relationships, broken hearts(including mine often) and more than a few real scars, all of which I came by honestly.

Now looking at the sunset I see rainbows just beyond the horizon. Each one has a pot of gold..
Methinks I will give that gold away and plant flowers in the pots to give to my wife. 
And that folks is the wisdom sent in each ray of that blinding light I was blessed to have found!

Robert. J. Lindley , 04-19-2015


Stay tuned in folks. I plan on another shameful confession coming soon..
Starting with my first bout of stealing a kiss from a pretty gal that I loved..
"Ain't life great"? If ya answered no then you had best get to really living!
You are either sleeping too much or not trying hard enough!
Drink your coffee hot , black and with gusto. If you just can not manage the gusto, a strong shot of good whiskey will do!

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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One night in New Hampshire we let the dog out into the dark night,
And suddenly he took off running with all his might!
A skunk was waiting and the dog didn’t have a prayer,
Now he smelled so foul, it was beyond compare!

The cocker spaniel came flying back inside,
Unfortunately we had left the door opened wide!
He rubbed on the furniture and all over the floor,
While my husband tried to catch him and colorfully swore.

Our new house was now a smelly wreck,
While at midnight we bathed the dog in tomatoes on the deck.
The house and pet reeked for weeks on end…
The skunk had won the battle with man’s best friend.

Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Mischievous Cats Bella and Shadow nestled in their woven beds on the cat tree. Bella stretches out her legs and purrs. "Psst, Psst. Hey, Shadow, are you up for some fun?" "Sure!” Shadow purred, "What do you have in mind?" "Let's go tease Peeddie. Let's see how far he can stretch from his leash. He is always eager to see us come near; a stretch from his leash, whip lash for him." Together, bolting for the stairs, they waited, looking around. Out the pet door they hurried, down the porch steps and started across the yard. Shadow caught up with Bella. They crept ahead with a mission, staying low, using the bushes for cover. Peeddie lies basking in the sun sleepy against a stake driven firmly into the ground, instead of his pillow inside his home. Bella and Shadow creep forward through the mulch beneath the bushes, a twig snapped off to one side. Bella stared at Shadow and whispered, "Hush! We don't want to warn Peeddie we're close." Peedie, arose when he heard the snap, saw the two cats, with precision, unleash his position. "Uh-Oh!" Bella hissed and spat. "W-h-a-t? Oh my gosh! ", Shadow said. Somersaulted back home; for it had rain the night before and the ground became so soft, Peeddie had pulled out the stake. Bella and Shadow bolted across the yard back through the pet door up the stairs. They found out it was better to sleep like a mouse and let sleeping dogs lie. Moral of the story, Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016

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tar dog tar dog where you be
he killing chicken like Wiley Coyote
wife yells you fetch him
for he eats more a them cookies
off I go low curse so she don't hear
dang flies he there alright
over hundred pound of black born trouble
rolling side to side can’t roll over he too fat
gut stink froth spit and feather coughs
dragging down fresh dry whites
he dances begs like some hippo in a tutu
comes up all happy yeah yeah then runs
back to tear up more chicken
white after red and black
chicken squawks and squeeze eyes pop
out the coop cracks
me happy I ain't got no chickens
next door not owning much as he figured
and the wife screams he ain’t got no license
to kill me yelling back
he don’t need no license
he county 

Copyright © Mark Ackerson | Year Posted 2015

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Who would guess after all these years I'm a dog lover to the nth degree Owe it to our Golden we've named her Annie Sure won me over OOOOEEEE! Can't wait each morn for the wag of her tail She's badly in need of a pee Charging through the house, she waits at the door Her bladder's bursting I can see So I open the door and without missing a beat She bolts out and squats with a sigh In doggie language she thanks me profusely After breakfast she's duly satisfied She settles down for one of her many naps Has untold numbers through the day It's everything dogs do besides their doo-doo But sometimes they wanna play Don't wanna play fetch, what future's in that Rather chase each neighbourhood cat Must be careful though, she also chases cars How silly and dangerous is that Who would have guessed, got a real friend Can't wait to greet her each morn Sometimes I'm having so much damn fun Between brekkie and Annie I'm torn © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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When us dogs lie there and stare up at you What do you think we're thinking Are we thinking whatever you say I agree with Because you feed us every day without fail We don't have hands, these paws are useless For opening bags or cans Tried biting the lid off early last month Needed stitches, trouble eating for quite a while What! Are you surprised we know what a month is I'm not just your average pet you know I'M A GOLDEN RETRIEVER We're a special breed, just want all humans to know that Us guys should be treated like royalty We love everybody and don't mean to knock people down We get a little over excited at times Mean no harm, hoped your stay in the hospital Would be short and you'd come out as good as new Us dogs... sorry, us Goldens are a special breed We don't associate with other less sophisticated breeds Well, now that I've completely blown your mind Perhaps next time we talk you'll have recovered One thing before I go mute again It'll be enough when wifey finds out I can talk So I won't tell her about what I saw in the hospital About the way you were ogling dear nursey-poo For an extra bone and a sufficient amount of doggie treats I'll keep this OUR little ole secret WOOF! WOOF! © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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She wouldn't win a beauty prize
My happy little Muffin.
She wasn't very much for size,
But sure kept me a huffin'.

She chased the rooster to the deck
Just to see that banty run.
When he hit the house and broke his neck
She was just having fun.

We'd play a game of hide and seek.
I'd seek and she would run.
I'd be so tired I couldn't speak.
She'd still be having fun.

She watched him hide his pretty wares
When the Easter Bunny came.
And as the children ran in pairs,
She joined into their game.

Their short legs were longer than
The short ones that she wore.
For each egg going in their pan
She'd find a dozen more.

We tried to take them from her and
She'd look at us and grin.
Her mouth was faster than our hand
As another egg went in.

She wouldn't mind me when I called her
As I trembled and I cried.
Though I ran and pleaded with her
A car hit her and she died.

I've had dogs that were more faithful
And superior in size,
But at being glad and gleeful,
Happy Muffin wins the prize.

Grandkids love to hear the story
Of how Muffin stole the eggs
And how God took her up to glory
On her little Dachshund legs.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009

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True Love

The English language does not serve up justice to the word ‘Love’.
It allows for an unrestricted usage relative to the object of our affection.
“I love my house, and I love my car; I love my dog, and I love my cat”.

If the equity in my house rises high enough, I will sell it and buy a better one.
If my car no longer performs or I desire to have a new one, I’ll sell or trade it.
My dog stands by me, and he’s my best friend.  My cat is quiet and very comforting.

“I love my teachers, and I love my preachers: I love my parents and my siblings”.
I love my job, and I love my blue suede shoes; I love my friends and my enemies”.
I tell you, there is no end to the things that I love without much distinction.

I love my husband; I love my wife; Now hold on! This is where the red flag must fall.
This is where the defining line of true love is drawn in the sand, and here, I take my stand. There are obviously hidden meanings when it comes to “Love” in the English language.

Why did the English not confer more with the Greeks in matters of the “Love Word”?
Would my wife not be much more appreciative of a  “Love Word” from me if she knew that my choice of words was different from, let’s say those used to describe my affinity for a professional football team?  I think yes.

Anyway, I do “LOVE” my wife far more and far longer than I ‘love’ the raise I received on my job.  English is the only language I know.  So I am stuck with loving the coffee she made for me, and LOVING her with the same word.

The Greeks seemed to have had a better idea.  In the Greek, there are at least three words for “Love”.  Those words are very relevant at this point.  Phileo, Eros, and Agape express three distinct meanings of “Love”.   Phileo love is a brotherly love from which we get the English word Philadelphia.  Eros is a romantic love from which we get the word Erotic.  In Christian theology, Agape is the divine love, or God’s love for mankind.

And now a final word, especially to all of us who are married.  Here is one way to clear everything up and cover all the bases of love.  Herein lies a way to not just hit a home run, but a grand slam. Say these words to your spouse:  “Honey, let me count the ways that I love thee; my dear, believe me when I say, I love thee in the English, and I love thee in the Greek;  I Phileo you, because you are my best friend; I Eros you, because you are my only lover; and I Agape you with a love so divine. 09292015 (contest )

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

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I visited you today,
At that place where you lay.
I placed flowers and a picture of you and me at your cold headstone.
As I was leaving, the wind picked up,
Throwing my hair in my tear-filled eyes,
That soon streamed down my face,
I tried to t hold them back,
Soon gave up on that.

I am not who I used to be,
I died along time ago, when you had to pass,
With one lingering question.....
Where is the "good" in this "goodbye?" 

I visited you today,
And cried, fighting the tears back.
Trying to figure what good comes from goodbye....

Copyright © Bethany Nikolassy | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
the father sees a neighbor
screaming with child as she runs
out the front door to shelter
he hustles his own to shelter
and turns to see other neighbors
with their two dogs come running behind

the shelter's too small to hold everyone,
the father says climb in but we can't fit the dogs 
the neighbors hesitate - then pull the dogs
back to their house as father shuts shelter door

in a few seconds jets and trains and 
bombs overhead shiver into steel and 
time stops or stretches to infinity
as flotsam shoots through cracks

father opens shelter door sure he will 
witness haunting fears he knows
and runs to the pile that was 
minutes ago, the neighbors house

throwing pieces of piles aside
he digs to the small space that 
two hundred and ten miles per hour
had enclosed to free friends and dogs

both men shudder at their fortunes
the father, immensely glad to not 
have to bear witness and grief,
the owner, who couldn't 
do that to his beloved dogs

© Goode Guy 2013-12-26

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2013

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I was fixing supper not so long ago,  
the kitchen full of smells, sights and sounds;
a new dessert was ready for applause.
We were waiting on Gramps to get home from work.
In retrospect, it was not so bad as it seemed.
Smiling, I recall three moments with grandkids -
a memory of a supper hard to forget. 
Chase upends half a box of spaghetti
over the floor, I look for an extra box
as the dog poops on the carpet near the sink.

Suddenly, my ancient microwave blows a fuse
spinning us in total darkness. “Watch your step!
Don’t anybody move.” I stumble downstairs
headlong into Jackson and his art project.
“Who turned the lights out?” he bellows with blame.

“Ring-a-ling!”  Who’d call me at a moment like this?
"Honey, I'm running late – just go ahead and eat."
Lights on!  Both messes cleaned up!  I decide - 
“Kelly, will you blow us up some balloons? 
party time - we'll have supper by candlelight.”

written December 24, 2015

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2015