052221c

 

Sir Barks-a-lot 

talks over us all

not much to say

011721d

 

no pets allowed

on the Lagrange habitat

I miss you already

122320c

 

black lab

loves everyone but the mass

pushing on her gut

091520c

 

The Human Legacy

 

hills with rounded corners

steaming toxic pits of sludge

 here and there a remnant

of beauty lovingly curated

by the Pack

082620c

 

new puppy

wears daughter out

no grandkids for us

031920d

Colony Ship



There wasn't much room
everybody had to be squeezed in
we couldn't bring much
my sister cried
about her doll
about her clothes
about our dog
I cried about that too
in the new world
everything will be different
one of those things
there won't be any dogs
no one to think you're wonderful
no one always ready to play
or cuddle
I'm going to miss barking
dad says the new world
might have dogs
even though they might have
six eyes
scales instead of fur
tendrils
but I'm not counting on it
that's why I'm studying
genetic engineering
everyone will want a dog

122419b

A Dinosaur for the Natural History Museum on Sirius 3

Beam this to Earth right away!

The Exopaleobiology Department requests a big one:

a sauropod, preferably a titanosaur,

something our patrons can really sink their teeth into,

and we don't want a cast,

no 3D printed replica, however realistic,

bones of the earth, that's what our visitors slaver for.

An exhibit like this will put our museum on the map,

folks will be howling to get in,

everyone will want a piece of what we have to offer,

(Scroll this: After you visit,

strangers will follow you down the block).

By the way, if you have some spare bones,

we are interested in a bulk discount,

but none of those

thumbnail-sized chips of stone

you pawn off on human pups.

No one believes those are real,

or ever had meat on them.

122019c

after the storm
both house and doghouse gone
Fido finds his bowl

112719c

The cyborg ship plunged into the sun, an apparent suicide. Actually, it was a murder-suicide. The brains got to arguing about which should be in charge, the canid or the felid. Well, one thing led to another, as humans used to say.

111419b

if you slept all day
why's the garbage on the floor
bad dog

100519d

A Night in the Lonesome October

Roger Zelazny

Cthulhu Mythos, Jack the Ripper, Sherlock Holmes, a canine narrator--what more could October want?

Better than 'The Call of Cthulhu' for Beginning Readers, itself a tour de force that has to be seen to be believed.

081019b

A Saturday Mishap

When I returned from my walk,

a sharply severed leash

dangled from my hand:

silence, instead of the usual yaps.

I could have lied about what happened.

How could I have known

that this was the week my spouse

had chosen to go off antidepressants?

072519b

the dog wants to keep
going in this cool weather
fall in her step

071219b

Fido emerged
and surveyed the natives 
"meow" they said

030119b

super-dachshund
tail still whapping your face when
head's in the next block

021619b

love chews
on my flaccid heart
I bump the ceiling

020819b

Dog-violets greet the sun
ever' blessed day
they won't shut up
till they're fed
made the mistake
of mowing them one year
cat nettles moved in
wiped out my entire crop
of bird root
and mouse berries
noise-canceling headphones
don't help
but I stay in business

020719

dog footprints
in Roman tiles
cat footprints
in my new cement

122518

Give your dog a bone

I was cutting through an older residential neighborhood on the south side when I ran into a scruffy little black-and-white mutt hitchhiking with a battered brown suitcase.

“What's up, pup?” I asked.

“I'll tell you,” he barked, “I used to live with an old woman. I thought she liked me, but she doesn't feed me anymore. I need to earn my own money to get food.”

“I'm getting around on shank's mare myself,” I replied, “so I can't help you there. But I could talk to the old lady. Where does she live?”

“It's no use,” he replied, but he gave me directions. It wasn't far. The house was small, painted white, and in need of repairs. Daffodils bloomed in the front yard. I knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened and a stooped white-haired old woman appeared blinking at me.

“Can I help you young man?”

I cleared my throat. “Ma'am, are you missing a dog?”

She peered around me. “Why yes I am. Did you find him? I've been worried sick.”

“If you are so worried, then why didn't you put up “lost dog” posters around the neighborhood? I haven't seen any. Also, was there some reason your dog would run away?”

She couldn't think of a thing. Finally I suggested that he might have felt neglected.

“I don't think so,” she responded. “He did say he was hungry, but it had only been a little while since I fed him. I went to the cupboard to get him something, but it was bare. I don't get my Social Security for another week, so there was nothing I could do.”

She could have been on the level, but my instincts were tingling over this one. My name is Hasp Deadbolt. I'm a P.I.

"Ma'am, what kind of dog are you missing?"

"Well, you know, he's some kind of spaniel, little and fluffy, not too little. Have you seen him?"

"What color is he?"

She said he was brown.

"The real Mother Hubbard would know what her own dog looked like."

All of a sudden I felt something cold on my neck. I raised my hands slowly.

"That's good," said a deep voice. "Step inside."

I did that thing. Directed by pokes from the gun barrel I walked to the back of the house. Whoever he was, my captor was staying way to close to me. He was an amateur. He was breathing hard, and smelled like he needed a shower. I thought I could control the situation, but I wanted to learn more. I played along. Following instructions, I sat down in a plain wooden chair, and "Mother Hubbard" tied my hands behind me and my ankles to the chair. I continued to play along. Finally, I saw the guy with the gun. He was a wolf, walking upright. He had an overdeveloped chest. The gun was a carved bar of soap. A couple of choice expletives slipped out, and the wolf grinned.

"What if your girlfriend heard you talking like that?" he asked me.

"Shut up," said "Mother Hubbard." She turned to me. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I, I was walking, see, and I met this dog. He said you didn't love him anymore and..."

She slapped me. Hard. "The REAL reason."

"This going to be loooong night," I said. I had no idea what she thought the real reason was.

An hour later, I had picked up quite a few bruises, most of them on my face, and the wolf was pacing back and forth, its tail twitching.

"He doesn't know anything," it burst out. "And even if he does, he's not talking. Lemme just plug him, and we'll get back to work." She nodded, and he raised the pistol, pointing it right at my face. "Say your prayers Deadbolt," he growled.

"I'm an agnostic," I mumbled, "I don't do prayers."

"That's interesting," said the wolf. "That you remain agnostic in the face of imminent death. I admire the strength of your lack of conviction."

"Thank you," I replied. "I've always tried to stick to my uncertainty."

"It seems to me though," said the wolf, "that the odds are against you."

"How do you mean?" I replied.

"Simple. Suppose there is no deity. Believe anything you like, it doesn't make a difference."

"I follow you so far," I said.

The wolf held up one finger. "Ah. But what if there_is_a deity? Suppose he, she, or it wants to be worshiped. You ought to do that. Simple matter of self-preservation."

"I think you're missing something," I said. "I don't know if there is a deity or not, and I don't know (supposing there is a deity) which one is the real one. I don't want to worship a false god. That might anger the real god even more than agnosticism."

"No," began the wolf, "I think you'd get E for effort if you sincerely worshiped some sort of god, and"

"Mother Hubbard" grabbed the pistol from the wolf. "You make me sick," she said. "I'll do it myself."

"Oh no you don't." Three little pigs had slipped into the room while my captors were distracted with my execution. The pig in front was armed with a 357 Magnum, trained on "Mother Hubbard." "Elizabeth Porgy. I might have known. Also known as Elspeth Porgy, Betsy Porgy, and Bess Porgy. The terror of three counties. And B.B. So nice to see you again. Not! My brothers and I have been watching this house for days, and now we've caught you red-handed. You'll never find the pudding or the pie ... in jail!" His brothers fanned out behind him. One was armed with a quarterstaff; it looked like the other was carrying a half dollar one.

"You were barking up the wrong tree here anyway," I said. "The real Mother Hubbard never has any food in her house. But what have you done with her?" The pigs all looked at me.

One of them said "Hasp Deadbolt! Wow! When this is over can I have your autograph?" Amateurs.

The pig with the gun said to his brothers "Focus, people." And that's when it happened. The false Mother Hubbard hit the floor and rolled, firing as she went. The pigs screamed and dropped their weapons.

The autograph hound clutched his chest. "I'm hit, I'm hit! Um, no, I'm not. What happened?"

"Because it's a carved bar of soap you idiot," I said. "They're getting away." The wolf had already gone out the window, taking the sash with it, and "Mother Hubbard" was stuck in the hole the wolf had left behind.

That all happened a few weeks ago. Liz Porgy is doing time for assault with a non-deadly weapon, kidnapping, pet neglect, and several other things. No one found the wolf, and no one found the pudding or the pie. The authorities have upped the reward for their recovery, but it's my opinion they've been eaten long since.

We found the real Mother Hubbard in her shed, thirsty, hungry, and covered with spiderwebs, but otherwise none the worse for wear. She and her puppy were reunited, and, so far, are living happily ever after. I even got paid: eight jars of home-made strawberry preserves. Not as versatile as cash money, but quite tasty when spread over freshly made toast.

The end

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875

120418d

I paid all I could afford
to get revenge on the neighbor
who shot my dog

tomorrow
three in the morning
his house will turn to sour cream

the witch
a dog lover
gave me a big discount