A Home For Joey

joey at the beach InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

He did not know how to play

But they knew he’d be

Okay.

He was scared of every thing

But they knew that he was

King.

He had to learn life from scratch

But they knew they’d love him

Much.

He’s the sweetest boy there is

Even unsure how to

Please.

And whether he’s a bit autistic

His kind of love is

Simplistic.

He is now a happy boy

Who gets his life to

Enjoy.

 

 

For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Pets

 

 

Gregory Green

IMG_0202a

Photo: Keith Kreates

 

“You have to save me!”

She looked at him, filed her nails, and licked her lower lip thoughtfully. She said nothing.

He hated when she did that, pretended that she didn’t hear him, or that what he said wasn’t even worthy of a reaction. Sure, he leaned toward the dramatic, but that didn’t mean his feelings didn’t count!

“Daisy!” he breathed, “I know you heard me.”

She tilted her head in his direction, her nails continuing to move as if of their own volition. Truth is, sometimes he wasn’t sure they didn’t. Have their own volition, that is. These things could come at you uninvited and without warning.

“I’ll give you my special treat …” he begged. Defeated. He loved his Sunday treats.

At that she deigned to flick her lashes in his direction. She knew she won. She always did. Her patience outpaced his excitement. Every. Single. Time.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she purred.

He breathed. It was as good as done.

Once Daisy got her claws into the yarn, he would be spared the indignation of being made to wear another stupid knit thing. It took a full year from the last St. Patrick’s day for the others in the dog park to stop calling him Gregory Green.

 

 

For Keith’s Kreative Kue 234

 

 

 

Cute Factor

Puppy ToniHadi

Photo: Toni Hadi

 

He was born without home

And no prospect of more

But his adorability-factor

Ensured

He’d capture good hearts

Galore!

 

 

For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Cute factor

 

 

Gentle Giant

laundry helper karenforte

Photo: Karen Forte

 

Hello Mom

I have come

To help with

The clothes.

Can you see

Just how gentle

I am being

With those?

I did not bite a hole

Heel or toe

In the socks.

Nothing like

What I’d done

To the new

Garden hose.

 

 

For this week’s Tuesday Photo Challenge: Gentle

 

Evening Friends

Friends Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

Come on friend

We will walk

On this sand

To the end

Of the earth

And return

Just before

A new night

Falls again.

 

 

For the RDP Thursday Challenge: Friend

 

Furry Halfling

chika OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Half-wildling

Half-tame

She sometimes

Knew her name.

One moment she’d hiss

The next she would purr

To allow or dismiss

You from stroking her fur.

 

 

For The Sunday Stills Furry & Feathered Friends Challenge

Guilty Faced

white dog AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

The tail wagged a welcome and the tongue lolled excitement, but the head swiveled back to the mess.

Guilty faced.

A chewed up slipper lay dead by the remnants of the morning’s newspaper.

The throw from the couch draped itself over spilled dog food, one corner deep at drink from the water bowl.

Wet soil from the tipped over planter paw-printed itself on the floor, the forbidden-to-jump-on cream-colored loveseat, the rug.

The pooch looked around as if to find another culprit.

He yipped hopefully. Maybe you didn’t see …?

When subterfuge failed, the penitent tucked tail and proceeded to ‘hide’ behind the sheer curtain.

A moment passed.

A nose peeked out, a rueful paw over one eye.

“Are you maybe not mad anymore, person of mine?”

 

 

For The Daily Post

Bumble Dog

http://www.redheart.com/free-patterns/dogs-crochet-bumble-bee-costume

Photo: RedHeart.com

 

“Our puppy is drunk!” The four-year-old announced mid-session.

“Drunk?” Their puppy was a five-month-old rescue mutt named Rooky, all paws, mischief and licking tongue. Still, surely I misheard. I looked at the mom.

“Well,” she clarified, her color rising, “he isn’t anymore!”

“But you said!” the boy accused.

“He was yesterday …” she conceded, redder still. “Drunk, I mean. He’s okay today.”

“Rooky drank Mama’s beer,” the boy offered helpfully.

Her blush intensified. “It’s not like that …”

“Mama had to pee and Rooky knocked her beer over and then he licked it up and he maked nasty burps and he walk funny. His burps smell like Mama’s beer,” the boy was on a roll. “Mama called the vet and he said Rooky is drunk. We taked him to the vet. Rooky even barfed.” The boy pointed out, impressed.

“Gramma said beer makes ‘bumble bee idiots dogs or not’,” he added in what I thought was a very grandma-like tone.

I’m considering the odds I might never see that mother in session again …

 

 

For The Daily Post