Dogs
By Mikel K

I have groceries for me, dog food for the dogs, cat food, and cat litter for the cats, and turtle food for the turtles. What more could a man want?



Who's been good?

I normally will give Bundy, and Morisson, only one snack that comes from a box at a time, and that snack is one that is mostly broken in two. I figure that those snacks are probably not the healthiest, so I try to keep giving them to my dogs to a minumum.

I altered my policy on this, just minutes ago. I'm not sure why. A wave of benevolence swooped over me, and I succumbed to it. The dogs were sitting there in front of me, being so good, looking so wanting. You could tell that they were surprised; they caught the second snack in their mouths, and headed for the other room to consume them, as if by staying near me, I might try to take them back.

It is a beautiful day out there, and I know that I should be out there in it, but I just don't feel like it. I feel like sitting here at this desk like I always do. What's up with that

I am babysitting Henry, and Anna, this weekend, two magnificent Great Danes. Henry is young, and Anna is old. They both don't seem as large as they did when Amber and Adam, and Henry and Anna moved in, several weeks ago, to the apartment next to mine, but they still seem as regal.

"Regal?" says Amber, the owner, "To me they seem goofy!"

Henry is visiting our apartment, right now; he and Bundy are feeling each other out, and the results are mostly positive. I only hear the occasional angry growl.

When Bundy and Henry are done playing, Henry picks up the rubber bone that Morisson, and Bundy, mostly ignore, and starts chewing on it. Henry is fascinated with the empty cat food bowls that Kobain, and Jaggar, my cats, have emptied this morning of their morning wet cat food snack. Jaggar has come out of one of his million hiding places to see what Henry is up to. Funny, that Jaggar rarely shows interest in this bowl, but is now all about it. This is not Jaggar's primary food bowl. I have that tucked behind a bottle of detergent up on the clothes washer, down the hallway, so that Bundy can not get into it. Henry could probably get his nose around the detergent bottle, so I will have to keep an eye on him.

The bowls on the floor that Henry has access to are Kobain and Jaggar's snack bowls. Every morning, I give each cat a small snack of wet cat food, just to be nice to them. Kobain is waiting by his bowl, every morning, no matter what time I wake up. He is so precious. Jaggar is iffy about his snack, mostly not eating it, leaving it to Kobain, or one of the dogs, if I am not watching.

My dogs, Morisson, and Bundy love ice. They will catch it in their mouths, run off to the other side of our small apartment, and chew it happily. Henry has not been taught to catch things, such as tennis balls, snacks, and ice that are thrown his way. I roll an ice cube to his feet, after tossing one in the air to the other two dogs.

Henry checks Bundy out, as Bundy is chewing on his ice. At first, Henry just lets his ice cube sit at his feet, but after watching Bundy he catches on. He slowly starts licking the cube, and then, in moments, is chewing it, just as Bundy and Morisson are. I guess we know how dogs learn to use drugs. Do not let your dog hang around another dog that has a drug problem, and only let your dog hang around dogs who catch and chew ice if you want your dog to be an ice catching and chewing dog.

"That's mine," I have to tell my cats over, and over, reaching for my tall water glass, before they can stick their snouts in it. I can understand them wanting to drink out of my cup if their water bowl is empty, but, when they have water in their bowl they need to stay away from the water that is mine!




I am about to walk Anna, a Great Dane, around the hood. I am thrilled about this, as I have never walked a Great Dane before. Anna is 9, so it will be a slow walk, which is fine with me. I am old, also.

Anna, and I, had a nice walk. She did better than I. I need to take a break before walking Henry, her one year old Great Dane brother. Bundy does not like that I am walking other dogs, at all. "Dog Sitting," is a concept alien to him. I am all his.



I've got 4 dogs, 2 cats, and 2 turtles with me inside this very small apt., tonight. Henry, the 1 year old, male, Great Dane just discovered where I keep Bundy and Morisson's bag of dog food. I feel fortunate that Henry responds to, "Hey Henry, get out of that!" Anna, the 9 year old, female Great Dane is laying on her bed, which I hauled over from the apt. next door, which is where both Great Dane's live. I am babysitting them for four days while their momma and poppa are out of town. I am also babysitting Kitty Poo Poo, but she is spending the night next door. Cats can be weird about territory. I don't want any cat fights in here, tonight. Do you hear that Kobain and Jaggar? Bundy and Morisson are sharing their home pretty well. They are both at my feet. I guess that they are telling our guests that I belong to them, even though they are sharing the rest of the place with guests.

I woke at five a.m. this fine Saturday morning, and let my dogs out. Henry started barking, loudly, from his cage where I had put him inside my neighbors apartment. He had gotten into some trash, yesterday, and I wanted to prevent any further occurrences of that. Henry had been good in his cage all night. I had put him in there at about 11 p.m., last night.

Anna pooped all over the front room, again. Poor thing is lonely for her Mommy, and Daddy. Poor thing needs to clean up after herself.

Bundy got jealous when I was taking Anna, and Henry outside to do their thing. He stood at our door, whimpering. Bundy has come so far from when he and I first connected, about two years ago, but, at times, and in places, he is still rough around the edges. Morisson gets jealous when Henry, and Anna are around, also, but he shows it in a different way than Bundy. Mo will burrow his nose into my hand, and try to get all the attention that he can that way when the other dogs are around.

My dogs, and Anna, go back to sleep. Henry wanders the space, stopping to sniff here, check out things there, get a drink of water, get a drink of water, again.

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Henry woke me, barking at five a.m. He stopped for an hour, and then woke me at six a.m. I put my shoes, and a sweater on, and went next door to let him out of his cage.

Anna came out of her room and stood by the door. I lead both of them into the cold, dark outside. When they were done, Anna went back inside her apartment, and Henry followed me to my place. When I let my dogs out to do their thing, Henry followed them, and tried to get Bundy to play, but Bundy was busy.

Henry came inside our abode, and I immediately gave all three dogs a treat. My dogs can catch their treat in the air. Henry lets his treat hit him in the face, and fall to the ground where he happily eats it. I sit down to crank out some great literature. I give all three dogs a cube of ice. Henry plays with his for a bit, before he starts to lick it.

My dogs lay down; Henry starts wandering the apartment. Twice he tries to go down the hallway where the cats' food is. Twice I say, "No, Henry," and he listens to me. I am thankful for that.

Henry is a good dog, a great dog, a great Great Dane; he is just young: large, and frisky, and young. He loves to play with his toys. He loves to have me play with him and his toys. It seems that tug of war is Henry's favorite game. Henry likes to go into our kitchen, and sniff about. Henry checks the turtles out. Henry and Bundy play.

There is never a dull moment with Henry about. I thought that my dogs were full of life and energy, and they are, but Henry has them beat. Now, if I can only teach him not to bark, viciously, at the people who pass by him when he is on The Love Porch, I will really have accomplished something.
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Henry has learned Morisson's trick of stick his head under my arm to pull my hand off of the keyboard, so that he can get a head scratch. It tickles me pink that Henry acts like this, because we have only been hanging out for four days, and he seems endeared to me at a somewhat deep level. Though Henry has his wild side, he is actually a very obedient dog; you just have to keep an eye on him, or he will get into things that you don't want him to get into, and whose fault is this but your own. Henry is just a pup: a one year old Great Dane pup.









The dogs get back together even after I have yelled at them, and pounded on a hardcover book, to stop. But they get back a play a little quieter, respecting either me, or the power of the written word. Henry is good for Bundy. Morisson does not play. Morisson spends most of the hours of his day, trying to get me to play, get me to scratch his head, get me to rub his butt. Bundy, and Henry, bare teeth at each other, and they lay those teeth on each others' necks, they lay those teeth on each others faces, they lay those teeth anywhere they can find a place to lay those teeth on, but it is done in fun.

Morrison sometimes makes it hard for me to work. He is jealous of these laptop keys. They take the hands that he loves to have upon him away from him.

One of the cats is scratching in the litter box. I will soon need to buy new litter.
The other cat is looking out the window at the birds. I know from prior experience, from back in the day when I would let Kobain go outside, that he is a bird killer. I love my birds, and I love my cats. I don't want my cats killing no birds.

The dogs get back together, even after I have yelled at them, and pounded on a hardcover book to stop. But when they get back they play a little quieter, respecting either me, or the power of the written word. Henry is good for Bundy. Morisson does not play. Morisson spends most of the hours of his day, trying to get me to play, trying to get me to scratch his head, trying to get me to rub his butt. Bundy, and Henry, bare teeth at each other, and they lay those teeth on each others' necks, they lay those teeth on each others faces, they lay those teeth anywhere they can find a place to lay those teeth on, but it is done in fun.

Morrison sometimes makes it hard for me to work. He is jealous of these laptop keys. They take the hands that he loves to have upon him away from him.

One of the cats is scratching in the litter box. I will soon need to buy new cat litter. The other cat is looking out the window at the birds. I know from prior experience, from back in the day when I would let Kobain go outside, that he is a bird killer. I love my birds, and I love my cats. I don't want my cats killing no birds.


Midway through my morning coffee, I decide to let my dogs outside to do their thing. I have multiple purposes for doing this. I want to get my dogs out, for sure, and I want to get Henry, the Great Dane, out of his cage, from his apartment, next door, for a bit, before I go to the doctor's office, this morning.

I told Amber, owner of Henry, that I would keep an eye on Henry, and Anna, while she is at work, and her man, Andy, is out of town. I like having Henry around, and so does Bundy; they play together incessantly. I also like having Anna around, but since she is older, she spends more time in bed than Henry

This morning's cup of coffee is particularly delicious. Some mornings, even though I make it the same way every day, the cup that I sip on seems to take on a greater significance than on all the days past, and that is how it is today.

There were a lot of birds bounding from tree to tree, this morning, in the trees that line our street. I love to see birds moving about, and birds singing, the first thing in the morning; it somehow makes this great gift of life even more precious.

Morrison doesn't play: Morrison doesn't play with other dogs, Bundy included, but he will grab hold of a designated for him stuffed animal, and shake the sugar out of it. Mo is a bit of a loner, when it comes to other dogs; he much prefers to hang out with humans, and I don't think that he much cares who the human is. If I died tonight, Morrison would, I think, be just as happy in whatever home he wound up in; he really loves people.

Jaggar has his nose pressed against the door window watching what the world is doing, this morning. Bundy has already been to that door and has growled, and barked, at the world. Morisson could care less what is going on in the world; he lays at my feet. I don't know where Kobain is, this morning; he has had his breakfast, and moved on. The turtles wait for me to clean their tank, this morning. There is much to do in this beautiful new day.

He drinks like a rabbit fucks

Henry is a water drinking mofo.
I ought to just hook a hose
up to his mouth, and let him
walk around with it.
I read that that is typical
for his breed,
Great Danes have a great thirst.
I thirst for something,
possibly love,
but I suspect that I was designed
to be alone.


I've got three dogs, right now, vying for one hand of mine. You would think that one of them would realize that I have another hand, and that that other hand is open, free to pet, free to scratch, free to mingle. These are three smart dogs, but what is up with this?

Henry, the Great Dane, woke me in the middle of the night, whimpering. I sat up, and said, "Henry, what's wrong?" and he jumped in the bed next to me for the night. As big as Henry is, he didn't hog the covers, he didn't take up too much of the bed, he didn't roll over on me; I do think that Morisson was jealous, though. It is a beautiful day out there. The dogs have been let out, and fed; I've had my coffee, time now to write. I have a wonderful coffee engagement, in an hour, or so, that came out of nowhere, with a wonderful lady named Annette. I want to go see the new Doors Movie, this weekend. Life is wonderful. I love the gift of it.

Henry has learned the Morisson trick of putting his snout under my arm in order to pull it up onto his head. The twist with this is that he is pulling my arm up and off of Morisson; my hand has been petting MO, and Henry wants in on the action.



Henry, my Great Dane neighbor cracks me up. On his visits to our abode, he will spend part of this time going about the apartment smelling anything that might have food associated with it. He stops, first, at the recycling bin sticking his huge Great Dane into the laundry basket that serves as my catch all for plastic containers, and tin cans, and such that I don't want to see haunting the land fill.

If I leave the refrigerator door open for a minute, Henry is there. sticking his nose in it. Henry sniffs the counters, but he does not stop and stick his snout into the trash, which shows that he is a well trained dog, a good dog Henry, yes you are. And last, but not least, after I have eaten, Henry will come up and sniff my fingers. I love my dogs Morisson, and Bundy, but I love my neighbor's dog Henry, also.


My black kitty, Jaggar, has been surprising me, recently; he has been spending more and more time brushing across my ankles, which is the only way that he has ever shown affection to me.

Jaggar was found, as a very young kitten, in the parking lot of a McDonald's parking lot with his chest caved in. His mother lay next to him, dead. Some fast food enthusiast, in the hurry for a quick burger had altered Jaggar's life for good.

Jaggar was rushed, by a good Samaritan, to a vet's office, and the people at the vet started taking care of Jaggar. At about that point in time, I started taking my dogs to that vet. For some reason that I can't remember, now, the vet people started bringing young Jaggar out to me, and showing me his progress, every time that I stopped in with my dogs.

When Jaggar was ready to be handed over to a good home, I was the logical choice.

Jaggar is a very standoffish cat. He has even been known to scratch, and bite strangers who have tried to pet him. He doesn't give me lots of attention, and affection, like my other cat Kobain does, but I think that I can understand the reason: Jaggar did not have a normal upbringing. Bonding with humans like many cats do may not be a normal thing for Jaggar. I love him anyway, and am pleased with these recent extra displays of affection that he has been giving my ankles.

I'll take love any way that I can get it.

Anna is my other Great Dane neighbor from next door. I don't shower her with all the attention that I lavish on her brother Henry, because she is nine, and her being old reminds me, in so many ways, of our dog Javi, who we recently had cremated.

I don't know that I am scared of death, but I hate the approach to it that both we, and animals, have to take to get there. Javi had diabetes for several years before he passed, and it was harder and harder for him both to get up off the ground, and to walk, once he got up, or was assisted up. In his prime, Javi had been a tennis ball addict, loving to chase the ball for as long as you would throw it for him. At the end, he could barely chew a tennis ball.

Right now, as I sit her, it seems impossible that Javi is dead. That dog gave me and my family so much love; that dog gave me and my family so many good times. Javi was a food addict, as well as a tennis ball addict. One of the tricks that he mastered, during a period where I was trying to help him lose weight, was to
wait until the kids had fallen asleep, and then eat the leftovers on the plate that they had put down next to them. Javi was a very clever dog, when it came to getting extra food. He often figured out his way into closed trash cans, and into bags of dog food that had been resealed, supposedly in a way to keep him out.

Anna likes to rest, and sleep a lot. She loves snack time, and she will bark loudly if Henry, and my dog Bundy are getting too close to her, in their wrestling matches.
It is stupid of me to cloud my relationship with Anna, because of my relationship with Javi. Anna is so full of life, and has so much to offer me, if I would just be willing to take what she is offering. You should not discard or neglect the old, whether they be man, woman or animal. I am going to go pet Anna, for a bit, now


Last night, I fended off Henry's attempts to get in the bed with me while I was awake, but after I drifted off the Great Dane climbed into the bed, and I woke to find him sleeping next to me. There was a storm outside, which meant that Morisson also climbed into the bed next to me, and he had no intention of sleeping; his sole goal was to bury his nose into my hand, seeking a security that I was not sure that I could offer.

Two dogs was too much, so at 4:45 I crawled out of bed, and started the day, a little bit earlier than I had planned.

Henry eats a different dog food than Bundy, and Morisson; he eat the high quality food that Morisson, and Bundy, used to eat when I was working, but he prefers the cheap stuff, usually trying to nose his way into the other dogs food when I am feeding all three. Is this like somewhat like humans love of junk food?

Henry is mostly good about staying out of the cats' food when they are eating in the morning. I think that this is very polite of him.

One of the dogs, I think that it's Anna, is making really strange noises. Great Danes just don't talk to you like most other dogs, they have a special language all their own. I have shut the front door, and put a chair in front of it, to keep Henry from seeing who is walking down the street, but still he finds things to bark at: could there be aliens in this apartment that I am not aware of?

Morisson, and I, just walked to the grocery store, leaving Bundy, barking, behind. I can't bring Bundy on jaunts where I will have to leave him, such as I would to go inside the grocery store; he goes ballistic. I guess that it is some sort of weird form of separation anxiety. Bundy is scared that I won't come back for him. I would. At this point in our relationship, Bundy has a solid place in my heart. I find it funny that women will say hello to Morisson, but ignore me. What's up with that?

I just bought kitty litter, and I am going to train my cats to clean out their own litter box.


I made these killer oatmeal raisin cookies, last pm. I am trying not to have them for breakfast, but it is hard! Bundy & Morisson, formally met Bolton, today, a dog who lives several houses down from us. Bolton was, originally, going to be a service dog, but there was something up with his knee, so he found a home with Lisa. The buzzer on the microwave just beeped, that means that my breakfast is ready, so I must go.

I just caught Henry eating out of my trash can. What a clever dog; he is so tall that he can go places with his snout that are far out of the reach of my dogs, Morisson, and Bundy. I hope that Henry does not get the shits from whatever he eats. Henry is prone to the shits, and he is prone to relieving himself all over my carpet. He went inside his cage, the other night, over at his house. I thought that dogs would not poop inside their cage. I guess that if they have an upset tummy, they will do just about anything.

Henry and Bundy, are now at my front door, growling, and barking at passersby. This is not my favorite thing for them to do, but it seems to be in their nature to be guard dogs. Morisson does not have this instinct. He is laying on the floor at my feet, waiting for me to run on him.

My cats are asleep, and though they often stick their noses on the front door, and stare out at the world, they never growl, or bark at anyone.

I keep threatening to whoop Henry's ass, because he has this large, obnoxious bark, which is constantly on display when he is a visitor to our abode, because he likes to bark at everyone who walks by on the sidewalk, in front of this old house,
especially if they are walking with a dog. Henry likes to let them know who is in charge, but what he hasn't figured out, yet, is that I am in charge, and I am going to throw down a butt whoopin' any minute now. Ha. Ha. Henry knows that I wouldn't hit him, that the worst that I will do is scream, "Stop," at the top of my lungs. I used to be able to scare Henry into shutting up by slapping my hand on a hard covered book, but that trick doesn't work anymore: Henry figured out that there was no danger present in that situation, after all.

Anna is nine years old, and the average life expectancy of Great Danes is ten years, so Anna has a bit of trouble getting around. She also has trouble, these days, pooping where she is supposed to, in the grass, where it is easy to clean up the mess. Instead, Anna has taken to pooping on the sidewalk, and the driveway.
I just got poop on my pinky, cleaning up after Anna, moments ago.

My cat, Kobain, will climb on my chest, the minute that I lay down on the bed, whether it be for the night, or just for a nap during the day, and he will start pushing his head into my hand demanding that I pet, and scratch him. When I am done petting, and scratching him, Kobain will lay down at my side, and go to sleep.

Tonight, while I was sleeping, Kobain did the cutest thing: he climbed up on the bed, and curled into the fetal position inside my armpit. It was nearly time for me to rise, when he did this, but I stayed there on my back until he was done resting there. I didn't get up until he removed himself from my armpit, and jumped off the bed. My cat was, I guess, sort of an alarm clock this morning. By climbing into my armpit, he woke me up. I am really glad that Kobain feels this comfortable around me. I find it very endearing to have a cat who will crawl on my chest, and demand to be petted, a cat who will curl under my armpit to catch some sleep.

I take the Morisson, and Bundy, out and Monkey is waiting at the door, meowing. I am mostly sure that she is being fed by the fellow who lives downstairs, but still I fill the bowl that I placed outside for her over a year ago with food from my cats' bag. Monkey eats for a little bit and then jumps down from the perch where the cat food bowl is, and interacts with my dogs, who are happily greeting the new day. Monkey displays no fear of my dogs; she likes to be around them. Perhaps it is hard to be a semi-stray cat, not really having a home: there may be times of great loneliness in it. At this point, though, I don't think anyone could take Monkey inside, and make her stay; the outdoors is her home. Monkey is more comfortable prowling the neighborhood than she would be living in even the plushest home.

The day went by slow, as all days that are mostly spent in bed do. I wasn't hungover, a strong excuse, in my distant past, to stay in bed all day. I lacked energy, for some unknown reason, and the bed seemed like the most reasonable place to be. I got a lot done, tonight, though. The cats have a clean litter box. They are happy about this. They have been doing sprints, of joy, up and down the hallway. I cleaned the turtles' tank, also. The turtles are not sprinting anywhere. They are not exhibiting joy. They are being the same old turtles that they always are. A funny thing about my turtles is that when I push the top back on their cage to feed them, they come to the edge of the aquarium where I am, and look up at me; but if someone else feeds them, in the same manner, they swim to the back of the box, away from that person. I guess that my turtles know who I am. This is a funny thing to think about to me, turtles knowing who the hand that feeds them belongs to.

Morisson, and I, were just stretching at the same time. I have to pee, and I bet Morisson has to pee, also. Isn't it amazing how in tune to your pets that you get. Morisson needs to find a job. I'm not sure that this poet thing is enough for him!

I can be writing, be deeply involved with my laptop, fingers on the keyboard going a million miles an hour; thoughts flying from my brain to the page in front of me, and, suddenly, out of nowhere, I am petting two or three dogs.

Morisson leads the mishcief, is the chief arthitect at pulling me from my life's work onto his head. He wiggles his nose under my arm to start the proceedings, working his way to my hand, as he pulls it off of the keyboard.

When I start scratching Morisson's head, that is Bundy's cue to come push Morisson off of my hand, to steal Morisson's position. Undaunted, Morisson just moves to my other hand, and there I am, instead of typing poems, and memoir entrees, scratching the heads of my two loving dogs.

When Henry is visiting, or Shawtie, they get involved in this event, also, positioning themselves one way or another to get my hand on their head also.

When we have guests, I often find myself petting three or four dogs at a time with two hands. What a life. What a special life these dogs give me; think how boring a person I would be if all I did was type all the time.


Henry just shit from one end of my living room to the other end, and then he got up on my bed, and wiped his ass. I'm really not happy about this; this is the second time in the two months, or so that he has done this. About 45 minutes before he did this, Henry was taken outside with all of the other dogs. Why couldn't he have done his thing then? I find this to be highly disrespectful on Henry's part. I have him quarantined in the bathroom, so that he won't walk through his poop, and track it through the rest of the house. As soon as I have cleaned up after him, which will take at least an hour, I am going to take him home. I am really pissed at Henry, even though I love him.

Karma, or Kitty Poo, as we call her just scratched me, as I was bringing her home. She, who lives next door, with Henry, and Anna, visited all day, and got along real well with everyone, except for Jaggar, who was being a butt to Karma. Jaggar spent the rest of her day, when he wasn't hissing at Karma, eating Shawtie's dog food. I don't know what's up with that cat?!!
Shawtie has taken over Bundy's two places of rest; she walks back from one to the other like she is on patrol, guarding something that she has just taken in a war.

Bundy has found a new place of refuge.

I will be glad when Shawtie is gone, on Monday; she has caused too many problems.

Last night, Bundy ran off into the dark, and stayed gone for about 45 minutes. Bundy has never run off, in the nearly two years that we have lived here.

It is funny the effect one being can have on others. The BP oil spill somehow comes to mind here.

--K

Kobain, the cat, just defended Jaggar, the cat's empty bowl, from Henry, the dog, who had his big nose in it.

Out of the four dogs here, right now, Henry The Good Neighbor Great Dane is the only one who will eat popcorn...so...he is the only one that will, right now, get a snack!!

The cats have been fed. The coffee is brewing. I just saw Kobain intruding into Jaggar's food bowl. The two of them seem to have worked it out; they have been brothers for a long time, now.


Shawtie leaves us tomorrow. Her stay has not been the most pleasant thing, but in retrospect no one got killed! I am not sure if I will let Shawtie stay with us in the future. I will have to evaluate the situation at the time. Even bad dogs need a home. Even bad dogs need a place to stay when their master goes away on vacation.

Shawtie has been a part of our family for a very long time. I was a bad member of this family for quite awhile myself, and I was not turned away. The door was not shut on me to be a member of this family, in spite of myself, and the inner turmoil that I was experiencing that manifested itself in exterior turmoil for those who loved me.

I love Shawtie, and I bet that inspite of their difference over the past week, that Morisson, and Bundy do, too. Everybody is at peace here this morning. May peace be with you.


Bundy is always aware of what I am doing. He is always looking up at me to see what is happening, to see what is going to happen next. Bundy was such a bad dog, when he first came to me; he did everything wrong, frustrated,and pissed me off at every turn. Somehow, Bundy and I got close, and he got better at behaving in a manner that I could accept. Bundy is by no means perfect, but then neither am I, but we have become friends, and you often let a friend get away with more than you would anybody else.

Shawtie has left the building. Shawtie has left the house. Shawtie has gone home, ladies, and gentlemen...yes!! I love Shawtie, but my house is much, much calmer when she is not visiting. My dogs are now at peace with the apartment. There is a little bit of excitement going on, though, since Kitty Poo, the kitty from next door snuck in, and is playing with Jaggar. I can not figure out if Jaggar is happy to have company, or is trying to lay some sort of law down on Kitty Poo...stay tuned.

My cat, Kobain, has this practice of jumping on my chest the moment that I lay down on my bed and digging his nose into my hand, forcing me to scratch, and rub him. Just now, he jumped up onto my lap, as I am sitting at my desk, and burrowed his nose into my hand. I think that I am going to have to ignore him, so that we keep this little game to bedtime, and do not have him interfering with the great works of art that I am creating here at my desk.

My dogs, Bundy, and Morisson love me to throw them saltine crackers covered in peanut butter, so we had peanut butter covered saltine crackers for dinner; because I love them too. I'm thinking that you might think that I am just an old dog, myself, but this isn't true.

Henry place two Great Dane paw prints in the bed of basil that I planted yesterday, and it looks like Morisson took a walk through my tomato plants. I, now, fully understand why it is important to fence your garden in.

I just took a nap, and Henry kept climbing in bed with me, but, finally, I would not let him up on the bed because his constant back, and forth, was keeping me awake. Henry is a good dog to take a nap with, though. He lays his head on your stomach, as if he loves you.

I just went in and checked on Anna. She was laying on her bed, soaking up the air condition, and lookee up at me as if I was crazy, when I said, "Do you wanna go out?"

Henry, the Great Dane, from next door, just outwitted me, again. I called to
Bundy to come outside, and he came. I called to Morisson to come outside, and he came. I didn't call Henry, because he had already been outside, just moments earlier, and he stayed inside, like a very good dog.

When I got back with Mo, and Bundy, I found that Henry had eaten all of Bundy's food, which is not a good thing, because Henry gets the poops, sometimes, when he eats anything but his own high grade food; dang dog seemed to have a smirk on his face when I got back to the house!! Good morning world; it is so good to have awoken to another day of dogs, cats, turtles, and life!


I thought that I was going to bed early, and I did lay my head on the pillow around eleven, which is about two hours ahead of my normal bed time, but as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, my eyes became wide awake, and I realized that it was useless trying to go to sleep early, when I was now wide awake.

I snapped my fingers for Morisson to come over to the bed so that I could scratch his head. Bundy tried to horn in on the action by licking my fingers, but I ignored him, and I soon heard him guzzling water from the cat and dog water bowl in the kitchen. Bundy has learned that he does not have to have all of the attention all of the time. He knows that he is loved, and I think that that gives him security.

Kobain, my precious long haired, grey cat, was not secure tonight, at all, though. Inspite of the fact that I scratched him on the head with my right hand, he was jealous that Morisson was getting scratched with my left hand, and he tried to push his head into my left hand, and steal the action from Morisson, the dog.

Kobain has this habit of either jumping on my chest, the minute that I lay down on the bed, either for the night, or for a nap, or pushing his head against the C PAP mask that I wear, at night, to get my attention. Either way, he is demanding that his head get scratched, that his boy get rubbed, and that his tail gets massaged.

When Kobain first joined us, he was pretty much an anti-social cat, so it really amazes me that he has turned into such a lover. You never know what is going to happen in this world.

Morisson just cooperated fantastically in taking a bath; he is now fresh, and clean, and smells like some scented shampoo. Bundy is hiding under my desk, refusing to come out, and be bathed.

Morisson cooperates while he is being given a bath. He lets you run the water over him. He lets you rub the soap into his coat. He lets you rinse the shampoo off of him. Bundy fights you. He tries not to get in the bathtub. He tries to not let you run water over him. He tries to not let you apply shampoo, and rinse it off.

The ads at the side of my Facebook page dangerously mimick me. "Do you want to publish your poetry?" one asks. "Cure diabetes," says another. I have started deleting the type of ad that has most been directed at me, the kind that say, "Young girls waiting for you," and, "She doesn't want to be alone, tonight." How does Facebook know that I am single, and horny. I mean I know that I put "single' in my profile, but I don't recall checking any box that says I was desperate for a blow job. I have taken to clicking on the x that sits next to these ads, and then checking "offensive," or "misleading," when given the chance to do so. I am hoping that if I check these boxes enough in relation to these type of ads that they will stop sending them to me. I think that it is working already, because I just got one that said, "Join our cat page, our kittens are waiting for you." Now, how did they know that I have cats?

Kobain alwasy comes back and chews on the same pen. It is one of twenty of so sitting in a cup on my desk. I didn't know that cats chewed on things, especially pens, and I wonder why he likes that one so much. It is probably them most expensive one in the cup. I just took an elastic band away from him, which he was chewing on. Surely a rubber band must be a dangerous thing for him to chew on.


I don't know if Bundy whines a lot less than he did when he and I first hooked up, or whether I have just become accustomed to his whining, but I think that the correct answer is a combination of the two: Bundy whines an awful lot less, and I have become used to what whining that he does do.

I don't know why a dog whines, but I don know that Bundy was an extreme whiner when he first came to me. Perhaps he had some emotional issues left over from the at least two humans who owned him before he came to me, or maybe he was born a whiner. I'm pretty sure that Bundy is a combination Labrador Rottweiler mix. To my knowledge neither of these breeds are known for whining, so maybe it is a thing that Bundy developed on his own.

At any rate, I am glad that he does it less, and that I am used to it more than I was in the beginning of our relationship: it used to drive me crazy for sure, and, now, only slightly irritates me from time to time.

Serge Zehmyan I've known alot of Labs that whine when they are trying to behave themselves and contain their enthusiasm. Like when they know its not appropriate to jump up on someone and paw and lick them, but they really want to, they whine instead. Not sure if this is the same kind of thing.
4 minutes ago · Like ·

Mikel K Poet I think that, somewhat, it is for he does egage in that type of behavior, but also he will whine trying to get what he wants, like when I put on my sneakers, he wants to walk, and when I go on the porch without him, he whines to come out.

I sit back in my chair, for a moment, after comleting some of my morning writing. My elbows are sticking out from the chair, and soon there is a dog licking each one of them. Morisson is on my left, going at it, and Bundy is rubbing his tongue all over my right elbow. Morisson has been licking me for years. Bundy only does it occasionally. I am still not sure if I like, or want, a dog licking me, but they seem to get great pleasure out of it, and I can see nothing being harmed by it. I wonder what it means, though, to be used as a popsicle by a dog?

Morning has broken; and Henry has spoken, rather loudly, actually. I've got the Great Danes for the weekend: what a great thing. Henry is visiting already, and is a little disturbed that Bundy is hanging out at my feet under my desk, and is not frolicking with him. Henry, man, it's toooooo early to play!! I've got my morning cup of coffee, and I am facing a beautiful new day: yeah!!

Henry got into the trash while I was taking my nap. He didn't got into it too badly, but he certainly got into it badly enough to enough a stern, "No sir." Henry understands that, "No sir," stuff, and I could tell that he was sorry as hell that he had done what he had done, or at least for getting in trouble for doing it, and he might not do it anymore. Good boy, Henry. (PS I took the trash out).

Henry has a curiosity about things which is both interesting, and amusing. I just cleaned my reading glasses with the solution, and little cloth tissue that I always clean my reading glasses with, and Henry stuck his nose onto my glasses, and watched the process, as if he had never seen anything so interesting in all his life. Maybe he thinks that, one day, his sight won't be so good either, that he may need reading glasses, and he is trying to learn about taking care of them now.

My dogs are not happy when I pet Henry, and Henry is not happy when Bundy will not play. Henry has his head on my right arm, right now, and Morisson has his nose on my left leg, at the same time. Bundy is surveying the action from below my feet, underneath my desk, the place he goes when I holler, "Go home," at him, or when I start to eat so that he can gather the crumbs that fall. Anna, Henry's sister, has shown no interest in leaving the house, so far today. She is not stupid. The good neighbor's have great air conditioning in their space.

An afternoon rain is pounding down, like angels are taking a shower, and we are blessed to get the runoff. Morisson cowers at my feet, the thunder moves him in not in a positive way. Bundy is barking at the door; he missed his chance to join us, which is rare for him. What could be considered nearly violent, I find relaxing, sitting on The Love Porch with my dog, watching and listening to The Southern Summer Rain.

Henry was howling early, this morning, but his demands to be let out of his house, and into ours coincided with my desired time to rise, and shine. When I went to get Henry, there was Anna standing at the front door, also, wanting, not, either of them, to go outside, but wanting to come visit.

Henry is working my arm right now. He, and Morisson, don't want me typing; they want my hands on their heads petting them. Bundy wants in on the action, too. I ask the dogs how I am supposed to pet three of them with two hands!

I took a nap, and so did Henry, Anna, Bundy, and Morisson. When I awoke, one of the dogs had slimy wet pooped it from one end of my apartment to the other. I didn't get mad. I'm actually getting good at cleaning up such mess; chalk it up to experience! I feel much better after my nap. Earlier this morning I felt lousy, but I have started my day over, which "they" have told me that you can do at any point in your day. I still have some poop to clean up: in the hallway, and the bathroom, so I'll talk to you later. I hope that your day is treating you well, and that your home doesn't smell like poop.

My cat, Kobain, has this new habit of jumping up on my lap, and sitting there while I am writing. I guess that I will have to give him partial credit for the poems, and memoir entries that I create while he is there. It gets so that I don't much notice him, except on the rare occasions where he digs his claws into my legs. I like pain; just kidding.

Henry, and I, came to an understanding about his barking, early in the morning, to get me to come get him from his home next door to mine. I just went and got the magnificent Great Dane, when I was ready for him, and not when he was ready for me; this is a much more acceptable situation.

Henry is happily moving about our apartment, now, interacting with my two dogs, sniffing the recycling bin, and looking out the door to see what he can see.

Anna, his sister Great Dane, was content to lay on her bed in the front room, in the air conditioning, under the fan. Anna is quite a smart dog. Bundy is at my feet in the front of me, and Morisson is holding down his usual position, on the floor, at the rear of my feet. It is a normal day, here at The K Abode.

Henry is visiting, and he is being both loud, and friendly. The loudness comes because it is that time of day where many of our neighbors have just gotten home from work, and are walking their dogs. Henry like to greet each one of them, with loud barks. I am not sure if he is trying to let them know that he is boss, or if he is just reaching out to say hello. Henry is also saying hello to me, trying to pull my right arm off my desk, I guess so that I will pet him instead of type poems, and memoir entries into my laptop.

It's hot in here, and I have been taught that downward facing dog calms the mind, which is where heat first, and most, affects me, so I am doing downward facing dog like a mother fucker, this morning. I'm holding of on food, so I can stick to the Yoga mat for a bit. The dogs are all knocked out: no Yoga for them!

I roll out the Yoga mat, and Jaggar immediately gets on it and does downward facing cat. In the morning, when we wake, the first thing that the dogs do is downward facing dog by the bed in front of me.

My cat, Jaggar, is a trip. Whenever I walk down the hallway towards his food, which is on top of the washer, so that Bundy can't get in it, Jaggar will sprint down in front of me, jump up on the washer, and start eating, which is a pain in the ars when I am walking down that hallway to unload, or load clothes, into the drier. Tonight, I went to feed the dogs, and there was Jaggar sitting on top of the storage bin that holds the dogs' food. Everywhere I went, tonight, there was Jaggar getting in the way.

Bundy doesn't get so jealous, anymore, when I scratch Morisson on the head. Most of the time, he just lays on the floor, under my desk, watching us with those big brown eyes of his, maybe brooding a bit, but he doesn't jump up, and try to push his way between Morisson's head, and my hand, all the time, like he used to do.

Now, first thing in the morning, when I wake up, and am coming down from the bed, is a different matter. Bundy will practically kill to make sure that he gets his share of head scratching at this point in the day. Funny animal that Bundy.

Bundy just got psychotic at the front door, welcoming the substitute mailman, who, of course didn't leave us any mail. I bet that they do that, you know, don't leave you mail when your dog is an ars to them; baring his teeth, and acting like he would kill them if he could only get through the glass door.

I just made dog treats. I combine vanilla yogurt with vegetable broth, and freeze the concoction: the result is pure love for the dogs. Henry is barking at every neighbor that goes bye. "Shut up," and, "Henry no," are not working, though, "No Henry," seems to stop him. If he keeps this up, Henry will not get a treat; he will just stand there, and watch while the other dogs enjoy themselves.

I made special treats for my dog, and I had a little bit extra of the mix after filling up the ice try, so I poured half of the remaining liquid in each of my dogs' bowls. A few minutes later, I had to break up a vicious dog fight. Bundy had been trying to eat Morisson's treat, and was now attacking Mo. It took a minute for me to get the dogs separated. Neither one of them was hurt, though I think that Morisson was a bit scared, and a bit scared to go to his dog food bowl.

Minutes later I heard two cats going at it outside my window. The cat screams were vicious, scary really. I could see my cats freeze up a bit, as they listened to the noise.

I am glad that my dogs do not normally fight. I am glad that my cats are indoor cats, and do not have to be subjected to cat fights.