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
Cute Factor
Pets
Gentle Giant
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
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Evening Friends
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
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Furry Halfling
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
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Guilty Faced
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
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Bumble Dog
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
Na'ama Yehuda 
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