Sunday Dog Pslam #2

Dear Heavenly One,
Thank you for nature and walks and the time to commune
with my person and our surroundings.
Thank you for my ability to take scent pictures
and my knowledge of the language of trees.

People use cameras to capture and see, recall, envision.
I use my nose.
My nose is like a highly sophisticated camera.
Humans can not even begin to fathom my
shutter speed or white balance mechanism
it is so finely, cosmically tuned.

I have an internal instrument that allows me to connect and create.
And I thank the Great Being for this wonderous gift.

I can convert my scent pictures into 3-d movie dreams
that enable me to live the story.
My paws run, I snort, bark, twitch.
I am fully engaged with what I have encountered.
I reconstitute and recreate.
I can return to each story again and again
in search of meaning, knowledge, connection.

This tree tells me
the story of a man who sought freedom 200 years ago,
he was running from persecution.
He rested often beneath this tree
and the time, shade and roots taught him
how to stop running,
and stand for Freedom.

This tree tells me
of the wealthy but neglected child
who stabbed at this tree
trying to find his own true heart
as he waited for the school bus
angry, lonely and afraid.

This tree tells me
of the birds and squirrels who used this tree as safe harbor
from weather, predators and famine.
The hardships of being other, lame or weak.
The demands of being forthright, resilient, strong.

This tree tells me
of the circle and cycle of life.
It is home to the vibrant red cardinal
who is the reincarnation of Rosie the greyhound.
Recognizing her reassures, encourages, teaches us.

This tree tells me
what is
and if
I am home.

Like so many others,
I leave my stories here
with this great tree
the glorious Wayland Tree
I leave them to honor and cherish
the world and myself

This tree tells me I am a part of the story of
struggle and transcendence.
This tree tells me how to recognize peace
and piece together the elements of eternity.

Cankles aren't just for women.

No sir.
Even I, a male dog, have cankles!

Some, including and perhaps most importantly myself,
think they are lush and beautiful.
But they are not in vogue or alignment with the current
female beauty aesthetic
which encourages women to liposuction away the offense.
Oh yes they did. Just this morning on NBC.

What, you ask, are CANKLES?
The Urban Dictionary offers this....

The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, nontapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. A reference to a pair of legs that have no defined end of the calf area as well as no defined beginning.

noun
1) An aesthetically unfortunate physiological condition which leaves its victims with no discernable narrowing of the ankle between the calf and the foot.
2) An ankle which has no discernable narrowing from the calf to the foot. History: The word is derived a combination of the words calf and ankle.

Also known as “peasant ankles” for the ostensible stability and hardiness afforded by the wide, steady base of the legs, which aids in long hours of tillage and harvesting. As such, the condition is most prominent in women of Russian or Italian ancestry. It is the condition where the ankle girth is equal to or indiscernibly less than the girth of the widest part of the calf. It is not ankle fat per se, but rather a state of being “big-boned” in the ankle region while simultaneously experiencing gross muscle atrophy of the gastrocnemius.

Victims of this condition are advised to avoid the following: ankle boots, ankle-strap shoes, anklets, ankle socks, ankle tattoos, high-top shoes, and any other footwear or legwear that might draw attention to the cankle region.

The term in
USE:

"Svetlana and Sophia both have classic cases of cankles -- their calves are the same width from knee to foot. So while they work in the richest and free-est nation in the world they are paid 70 cents on the dollar. This is fair because while they might be bright contributors their aesthetically unfortunate cankles are always present when ever and where ever they are.
So they are worthless, ops - worth less...
oh! you know what I mean."

"If I didn't have cankles, I might be able to wear those
Prada loafers with my capri pants.
But it seems a waste of time to dress up for
potato planting and barn mucking."

Fashion-free Man 1: "That girl's wasting her time on the calf machine at the gym--
there ain't no cure for cankles"
Fashion-free Man 2: "Hopefully she'll marry a farmer"

GEEZ

Be they fluffy, be they sheared, my beautiful cankles get me where I want to go.
So I rejoice in them. I use and admire them. My advice?
Ignore the self appointed "Fashion Aesthetic PoPo".
Flaunt your stable hardiness with pride.
Take a page from the fellas.
Embrace your lovely cankles Ladies!
Men embrace theirs,
along with their beer bellies, waddles, love handles and ear hair.
And no one bats and eye.

Sunday Dog Psalm

Today I found a tiny, lovely, baby bird.
Departed.
I rolled on it to honor it.
I am not frightened by death. I am curious.
I do not look away, dismiss, or avert my sensibilities. I hone in.
I investigate
gutters, leaves,
the under carriage of shrubs, grubs,
garbage and trash
to find the source of the scent.
The scent that informs me of life - its tenacity and fragility.
Whoever or whatever you were, I want to know your "ness".
Do not fear. Death is but one more leg of the journey of existence.

Your destiny is the beauty of the universe.

Hide and Seek

Can You find Me?
I'm a mere slip of a thing, a shadow of my former self.
You might mistake me for a baby toy.

That's right. I'm underneath not on top of the ironing board.
Truth be told, now that it's 85 degrees with 98% humidity
I'm loving my new hair-do

Summer Cut

I just had the strangest dream.

Someone came to the house and shaved all my hair off.

Uh Oh. It wasn't a dream!


How in the world am I supposed to put my coat back on?

What do you mean "It grows back?" How long does that take?


I feel like a clown.