My Kind of Dog

Choosing A Dog

by William Stafford



"It's love," they say. You touch

the right one and a whole half of the universe

wakes up, a new half.



Some people never find

that half, or they neglect it or trade it

for money or success and it dies.



The faces of big dogs tell, over the years,

that size is a burden: you enjoy it for awhile

but then maintenance gets to you.



When I get old I think I'll keep, not a little

dog, but a serious dog,

for the casual, drop-in criminal —



My kind of dog, unimpressed by

dress or manner, just knowing

what's really there by the smell.



Your good dogs, some things that they hear

they don't really want you to know —

it's too grim or ethereal.



And sometimes when they look in the fire

they see time going on and someone alone,

but they don't say anything.

Today conspired to be a Baloo post.

First, Liat forwarded some other-worldly photos of Baloo on the the icy pond (Retreiver on the rocks?). Then Tereza forwarded a poem (not this one, but a fabulous poem that I will share in the days to come), another reminder of just how much I am coming to love poetry. I subscribe daily to The Writer's Almanac, which I adore. I've found some marvelous poems, plus I learn a lot of odd facts about writers. I recommend it highly!

The Ice Walker Feels No Fear

OMG. I am in the possession of the single greatest invention ever in human history. The Salk vaccine, the wheel, the espresso machine - all pale in comparision to (drumroll please):

Still life with Boots

STABILicers Lite "Studded Snow Tires for your Feet" (or, if you prefer it en Francais: "Des Pneus Cloutes pour vos pieds"). These delightful inventions are simply steel cleats imbedded into stretchy rubber things that fit over one's shoes.

Oh, la la! Mes pieds are so, so HAPPY! And so are my wrists, my elbows, my butt, my head, AND my husband, who no longer has to listen to me sob inconsolably every time I slip and fall on the ice. Because with my new studs I feel no fear. I walk on ice, and I sneer at it. I call it names, and it remains powerless to toss me onto my tush.

The weather, she is a devil lately - first it rained (flood watch levels of torrential downpour) and then it froze, and THEN it snowed. Hooeeeee. It is a lot for this Californian to take in. But fortunately, it is warm and cozy in our straw bale cottage. We sit by the roaring fire, dozing dog at our feet, belligerent cat racing around like the ball of energy that he is, and Kurt reads aloud from our current favorite book Endangered Pleasures: In Defense of Naps, Bacon, Martinis, Profanity, and Other Indulgences by Barbara Holland.

(Don't try to "look inside" - I stole this photo from Amazon. But don't tell them, ok?)

In the preface (just to set the stage for you), she begins:

Subtly, in little ways, joy has been leaking out of our lives...Americans in particular have always been wary of pleasure. When we ponder the great question of life, how shall we spend our days on earth, enjoying ourselves as much as possible is not a respectable answert to come up with. "The pursuit of happiness" isn't expected to mean fun. Indeed, many of our ancestors came over here specifically to escape from all that post-Cromwellian singing and dancing, drinking and wenching, ruffles and ribbons and bows. They hated fun.

Other ancestors came over because they could make more money here than back home, which is perfectly reasonable but not very merry."

And with that, we're off! In the next few days I'll share bits of the sections on, oh, I don't know, coffee, and naps, and bare feet, and books, and.....

Right now, I'm going to go cook breakfast for dinner - it's been a busy day!

Ms. Crabby-Pants is History!

And thank goodness and good riddance! Whew!

I'll update more tomorrow. But the black cloud of who-knows-what has passed, and it will be a much more pleasant experience to read this blog.

Additionally, I am trying to figure out FeedBlitz so that you NEVER HAVE TO MISS A BLOG ENTRY AGAIN! Oh, I hear sighs of relief from, oh, one or two households!

Talk to you tomorrow.