August 16, 2019

Dreams took flight, so with puppy I write alone til’ night. Walking beside me, she’s all I got in this fight of write. 3 AM is not the same; but Kali’s sound asleep and in her crate. Up and at em’ for the day’s her break—outside Dekum’s blue where she’s happy to play with you.

Walking beside a rock, she knows what pops or what not. An instinct for survival, no one ever moves what’s stopped. Dogs don’t have feelings, but we do; and puppies feel them before we do. When sad, they sit still until something worthwhile brews.

Throw it; yeah the rock, see what else it breaks at its stop. But don’t blame it—that’s life for people manipulate rocks. Dogs like us walk above the hottest boiling pots. Sleeping with memories of crossing thoughts. Some just watch, others react for it to stop.

But like a rock, a dog won’t think. With hurt feelings, ten minutes later a treat for emotional healing. Happy again, but they remember. And know your mood before it timbers.

You see how big she got? My loving furry rock.

-Budd

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes because no one can 'read' him. And it's a great way to hide public thoughts...

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