Category: Observations

My Year So Far

February was my 20th Anniversary.
We were going for a cruise. 
So, in January, I broke my foot.
Oh, plus my ankle, too.
Cruise canceled.
Well, next year is 21. 
That's almost the same. 
Staying home. 
Avoiding all others. 
Well, it will be over by May.
May, when we visit grandkids.
Wait. What? 
Scrap that trip.
We have a Christmas cruise.
Yes, I know about cruises.
I'm not hopeful. 
2019 kinda sucked.
2020 said, "Hold my beer."
I'm too old for this. 
March, I was out of the splint.
I was out of the cast.
I was into a boot. 

So, now I can travel. 
It's my 60th birthday. 
Time for a road trip.
Wait. What?

Dog Talk

We have a very vocal puppy.
Her name is Katie.
She talks all the time.
(She gets it from her Mom.)

The problem with a vocal puppy,
Is that nobody in the house speaks Dog.
With the exception of the Chihuahua,
And nobody speaks Spanish, either.

Katie howls at the front window.
This means, “Mail’s here.”
Unless, “The yard man is mowing.”
Sometimes, “A leaf blew in the street.”

Katie whimpers by the bed.
(Only in the middle of the night.)
This means, “I must go outside.”
Or, “Daddy’s sleeping in my spot.”
Sometimes, “Can you get me a snack?”

Katie whines in the kitchen.
This means, “Feed me now.”
Perhaps, “I would like some attention.”
Rarely, “My goodness, I am full.”

Katie cries by the back door.
This means, “Potty, please.”
Unless it means, “The neighbors are loud.”
Maybe, “There is noise out front, but this door has a window.”

Katie moans by the bedroom door.
On the outside, “Let me in!”
On the inside, “Let me out!”
That one, we understand.

Katie’s Lament

Our dogs are starving. Apparently, two large meals a day plus snacks is not enough.

I don’t want to appear bitchy,
I fear I seem to be quite rude.
It’s just that I’m here starving,
And Mom won’t share her food.

Mom is a diabetic,
She’s very careful what she eats,
So, I just help her control portions,
By consuming any vegetables or meats.

(Especially meats.)

She screams that she’s not sharing.
“This food is just for me!”
Hey, calm your britches, lady.
Try some vodka in your tea.

Mom gave me some dog biscuits,
It’s the only snack I’ve had.
I hate to sound ungrateful,
But I can get those things from Dad.

(Cough up the meat, lady.)

I’ll need a wee distraction,
Perhaps a knock upon the door.
Then, I slightly bump the table,
And the pepperoni’s on the floor.

I’ve never seen her face that color.
It’s not like I ate it all.
I just saved you some carbohydrates,
And the rest is down the hall.

(If you can find it.)

I finally filled my belly,
I think I’ll take a nap.
But first, I’m going outside,
So I can take a … walk.

(Mmmm.. Pepperoni.)

The Attack on Granny’s Ranch

Everyone should be a rough ‘n’ tough cowboy once in his life.

Editor’s Note: I was at least twelve at this point, since my Grandpa was already gone, but I’m not sure when this was. I hope it wasn’t much later than that!

Once or twice almost every year,
We would visit my Grandma’s ranch.
I would always shed a joyous tear,
Visiting another family branch.

My parents left me with my Granny,
And went off to places still unknown.
She was not really much of a nanny,
So I felt almost home alone.

As I started to drift asleep,
I was quiet as a mouse.
I didn’t hear a peep.
I was the man of the house.

I woke a little bit later,
I could hear a rustling sound.
I didn’t want to wake her,
But there was someone on the ground.

My uncle had at least two tractors,
Parked under the shed.
These I assumed were factors,
For robbing our homestead.

At this point, I saw two choices.
One, Granny pulled out a gun.
The other, hearing stranger’s voices,
She told me to go get one.

I really hoped she had a pistol,
Hidden deep in her nightgown.
Otherwise, clear as crystal,
I was going to shoot a bandit down.

I waited for her to hand me a key,
Hidden behind her necklace cross.
“This is to the gun cabinet, Sweetie.”
I would then become the boss.

There was another option, of course.

I woke Granny, who was trying not to cuss.
While I began to panic, she said,
“Nobody’s gonna bother us.”
“Now, you go back to bed!”

Well, that was anti-climactic.

When I looked out at morning light,
I found we had not been alone.
Sometime in the dark of night,
The cows had come back home.