Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Pete wanted to go outside. In a thunderstorm. 

I had to explain that, to lightning, he would look like a little white cloud out in the yard, and that all those big gray clouds were once little white clouds that lightning struck and turned to burnt marshmallows, because that's what lightning likes to do - burn marshmallows and stuff. 

There are just so many things a little dog doesn't know.


Monday, December 19, 2016

At our house, if you get up at night to get a drink, or maybe to put another log on the fire, you will lose your place in bed.


Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

If you have ever held your dog close, felt its warmth and softness on your face. This is how I think love would feel, if it could be touched.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Pete took his new five-dollar dog bone outside and trotted off toward the woods where the dirt is soft and easily dug.

"Pete!" I called after him. "Don't you bury that brand new dog bone." 

Pete turned around. 

"I wasn't going to," he said. 

"Okay," I replied, "Good."

Pete started back. Midway, he turned and bounced over to the truck. 

He crawled deep underneath. 

He dropped the five-dollar bone and backed out. 

"See," he said. 

And I did. 


Sunday, November 27, 2016

Saturday, November 26, 2016

It was definitely a black, black Friday. Three big dogs and only one can of dog feed on the worst possible day in the History of worst possible days to go shopping.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

I was going to order a fancy Thanksgiving dinner from the grocery store for the boys and me. I realized, however, yesterday at lunch, that Thanksgiving was tomorrow, or today, however you want to look at it. 

I called, nonetheless.

There was no getting through.

We'll have pancakes. Turkey shaped pancakes.


Sunday, November 20, 2016

Pete and I have been out five times already this morning to check if Summer has come back. 

It hasn't.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

If you get close enough to Pete, and I do, you can still smell the puppy on him.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Some days I step outside of my house and feel as if I am a guest, an outsider, who has rented this life and beautiful property as a getaway, a retreat from complications I have long forgotten. 


Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Pete doesn't know how much longer he can stand being cooped up in the house. 'I'm going bonkers,' he says. And it's true. He is going bonkers. 

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Pete got hit by a car. I suppose you'd like to know why he was in the road, and I'd love to tell you, but it's a long, complicated story. Let it suffice to say that, at the time, Pete was not entirely my dog, I just loved him as such, and it really wasn't my business to be keeping him out of the road. Besides, I wasn't home. But Pete came to my house after he got hit. He wanted me to fix him. Not them. So, he's mine now. It's in the rule book. And I will be keeping him out of the road from here on, mostly because I love him, but partly because I could buy a couple fancy dogs for the amount it cost to repair him. 

Monday, October 24, 2016

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

When I finished reading The Secret Garden, two days ago, I thought to myself that nothing but wondrous things must come from this Yorkshire place, with its moors and heather and all, and then, in the mailbox, just yesterday, there came The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, from  a township in New Jersey. 

A township named, Yorkshire. 

See what I mean? 


Tuesday, October 11, 2016

We are in bed. Me in mine, he on his. 
"It's cold." 
"MmmmHmmm," he grunts. 
"You're supposed to come up here and keep me warm." 
Bobo does not like sleeping next to me. He gets too warm and I scratch him too much. 
"Who says?" 
"The Boy and His Dog Handbook." 
"I've never read it." 
"I have. It's your duty as a dog to keep me warm." 
"Page Two."

"You're mean."


"Kind of."





Sunday, October 9, 2016

Pete and Harley spent the whole glorious day chained and looking forlorn, and I saved the life of an enormous pig who looked like Uncle, but was named Porkchop, and then Pete and Harley miraculously escaped and we celebrated in grand fashion, and in the morning I'm going treasure hunting! 

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

I never read 'The Secret Garden', when I was a boy. Because I was a boy. 

I'm reading it now, though. Because I have a secret garden. 

p.s. it's wonderful 


Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Today I found a penny in the toe of my sock, which was in my shoe, along with my foot. 

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Pete got his second First collar. 

His first First collar was for a medium dog, and too small. Barely, but still... Pete is not a medium dog. Pete's a big dog. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Today I saw an old black woman walking a yellow duck on a leash. She had snow white hair and a crookedy back and the little fat duck just waddled right along behind her, happy as can be. Or maybe it was her handbag in a pull-behind cart. They look so much alike, you know. 


Friday, September 23, 2016

Do you know why cows have such skinny legs?

So they don't get stuck in the mud. 

It's like poking a toothpick into a cake. 

Or something. 


Friday, September 16, 2016

"Whatcha looking for Pete?" 

Pete's as tall as Pete can get, standing with his paws on the second shelf of my tool rack, his nose searching the edge of the third. 

"Nothing," he says, and comes down to curl on the floor, as if nothing was indeed the case.

"What does a Nothing look like?" I ask, after he's settled. 

Pete looks up at me, then away, then up and then away again. 

"A cat," he says. 


Sunday, September 11, 2016

Pete was burying dog biscuits today. Pete's little still, he doesn't know.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

“How can you stand it?” they ask, “It’s so quiet. There’s no one to talk to.”
But in the morning the crickets come to chat, at lunch the cows, in the afternoon the swallows and all day long the Friendly Butterflies. It’s a wonder, really, I get anything done at all. 


Wednesday, July 27, 2016

We're dog spotting, Bobo and me. 

I'm up by three and he asks for the window to be rolled down.

"It's too hot," I say. "Besides, that's cheating." (His nose, you know.) 

Bobo sighs. He leans heavily against the unopened window and stares down at the floorboard. 

Two lawns pass in silence, three.

"It's not cheating," he finally says,quietly. "I'm not a cheater."

We pass another empty lawn. 

"I know you're not buddy," I say, and roll his window down. "Just a crack. Okay?" 



Sunday, July 24, 2016

There is one swell thing about Baker.
When I say "Baker?"
Baker says, "What?"
Every. Single. Time.

It makes me laugh.
Ever. Single. Time.

And, he's soft.
Baker is incredibly soft.
Like rich cat soft. 

That's two swell things.   

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Bobo says that he can't be both perky and percolated.
It just won't happen.


Monday, July 18, 2016

The problem with meeting three swell dogs is, I only have two hands.
We managed though.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

The dogs wander and sticks fill the yard and so goes summer.

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Baker is either asleep or a pest. There is no in between.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Bobo gets embarrassed when I call him Sweetpickles in public.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

There is a great deal of pet hair woven into the fabric of my life.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

I have two favorite numbers. 
That is, I have two numbers that I use a lot. 42 and 27.
42, is any uncountable quantity of 50 or greater. 
It can be a quantity such as 5, that I would like you to believe is closer to 50 or greater. For instance, if I said, "I've read Raymie Nightingale, like, 42 times." This means that I've read Raymie Nightingale  a lot, which for me is roughly 5 times.
27 is any quantity between 3 and 42.


Monday, June 20, 2016

This needed pictures.

Do you see that?

That little yellowish thing
near where that big limb and the trunk join. 

Do you see it now?

It's a dog bone.

In my tree.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Baker has acquired yet another hole in his head. I haven't been counting lives, but I'd say from the way he's been frantically looking over his shoulder, as if the grim reaper of cats were riding his tail, that this is all of number eight

Sunday, June 12, 2016

There is sleep magic in the paw of a dog, in the tip of his tail.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Monday, June 6, 2016

Sometimes it's enough to find a smooth stone to put in your pocket. Don't you think?

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Do you know this word?
It's a noun.
It means doughnut.
Sweet. Huh?

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Do we know this mouse in the bottom of the oven eating cat feed?


Sunday, May 29, 2016

Conversation beside a large hole in the ground ...

'Bobo. We forgot the groundhog trap.'

'I mean ... We forgot the new, extremely comfy groundhog-size bedroom addition we were going to build on to the house.'  


Saturday, May 28, 2016

It's a terrible thing, Bobo tells me time and again, for a dog to smell another dog, and not be able to sniff him. 

Friday, May 27, 2016

Just down the road. And by that I mean, between a field of corn and a cow barn, is a parrot, hanging from a walnut tree.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Every hole in my backyard is filled with a baby something.


Wednesday, May 25, 2016

I made Baker a little salad today. Three leaves. Spinach.
He was polite, but made it clear that this should probably not happen again.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Sunday, May 22, 2016

I saw a limpy squirrel cross the street today. In a crosswalk. Behind four children. 

crossing guard with white gloves, a silver whistle and a stop sign held high above her head waved them right along, as if it were just another day.

And it might have been.