Leaves, Dogs, and Poetry

Fall is here.  The swallows have passed through the nearby prairie on their way south, the Big Woods are full of mushrooms, and there's a hint of a chill in the air. 

Muttley wonders if poets write about dogs.  The answer is yes:

         Percy (Nine)

Your friend is coming I say

to Percy, and name a name

and he runs to the door, his

wide mouth in its laugh-shape,

and waves, since has one, his tail.

Emerson, I am trying to live,

as you said we must, the examined life.

But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,

not to speak of the busy heart.  How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not

thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.

                            -- Mary Oliver

Today's Front Yard Critter Count:

Raccoons: 7 (the 4 squash-sized babies and their mama, Crabby Mama's youngest daughter, and one more)

Deer: 2 doe, here to eat nectarines.