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.