
More pic of the week.
More pic of the week.
Selfie with Ralph
Tell Me Your History
by ARHuelsenbeck
What happened to you in
your past life, Ralph?
Why is it that you cringe and
run away when I stoop to
pet you? Why do you refuse
to take a treat from my
hand, but grab it when I
put it on the floor and step back?
Why do you growl at Daddy,
who’s never ever hurt you?
The neighbors laugh when
they see me walking west
with you. They say, “Doesn’t
it defeat the purpose if you
carry your dog on your
walk?” I have to explain
you only walk toward the
house, never away.
You’re so damaged. You
never come when I call you.
I can only touch you when
you are in your safe places,
your little beds throughout the
house. We’ll never know what
happened before you came to
the shelter, a stray. But don’t
worry; you’re safe now.
Read these wonderful articles, and spend the rest of the weekend creating stuff.
Art and photography and books and sketches and a workroom and music and travels and the aftermath.
An oldy, but a goody. Un-smiley face graphic by Kaz Vorpal.
As I was readying to leave for work one day fifteen years ago, my daughter Erin, then fifteen years old and the last of our children to leave for school in the morning, breathlessly announced, “There’s a snake in my pants!”
Now, in some homes, a statement like that might be alarming. However, in our house, it was pretty typical.
Firstly, my kids tended to keep their clothes on the floor. Secondly, although we live in Arizona, we are surrounded on all sides by the greater Phoenix metropolitan area—unlikely a wild reptile wriggled in from the desert. It would probably be one of our resident serpents.
You see, my husband, Greg, an elementary school teacher, collected critters.
So my very logical response to Erin was “Who is it?”
“One of the black and white ones.”
Boy, was I ticked. I had recently flown to New Jersey to…
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