February 18 2020: Old Dog, New Puppy

I started my day cuddling my bride, our old dog, and our new puppy. Our old dog has been struggling with our new addition and has felt a little displaced. He was so very happy this morning and has been laying on top of my feet since I sat down with my notebooks and journal to begin my day. I love this dog.

Old Dog, New Puppy

Day 4: Rebel

The newest addition to our home continues to inspire. She also continues to get so excited she forgets she’s supposed to go to the bathroom outside or on her puppy pad.

Rebel

Day 327: The Puppy Machine

I surprised my bride with a puppy for her birthday. Her name is Whimsy.

Today’s poem is definitely inspired by her and ran a little longer than usual.

The Puppy Machine

Day 134; Salty Dog

My bride and I got up early this morning and drove to one of the more secluded stretches of beach with our dog to watch the sunrise. It’s hard to say which of the three of us enjoyed the experience more.

Salty Dog

Day 113 & 114: Storm in a Bottle, Good Dog’s Good Day

Another double post. Got yesterday’s poem written in my notebook but didn’t have the chance to share it. So here is that poem first, followed by today’s.

Sometimes we have an utterly irrational emotion overcome us. It’s a humbling experience because we know it’s irrational and it doesn’t change a thing. In fact, the knowing serves to exacerbate the problem by creating a feeling of helplessness. Art, poetry, writing, these are the tools of release and catharsis and they work wonders.

Storm in a Bottle

My dog has had an absolutely wonderful day today and only needs one thing to make it complete. Pretty sure he’s going to get it.

Good Dog’s Good Day

Days 176 & 177: Packed; Missing Spots

Once again inspiration struck when I didn’t have my notebook on me and I had to resort to writing yesterday’s poem on scrap paper. I transcribed it into my poetry notebook this morning before writing today’s poem.

Yesterday I left my bride and my dog in Houston. Nobody’s especially thrilled about it, least of all my puppy. He’s a rescue and has severe anxiety attacks every time he sees a suitcase being packed. He knows it means a trip and that it’s not going to be a quick ride in the car. He gets both desperate and excited and it’s him that inspired yesterday’s poem. Kind of hurt to write it out. I’m missing him and my bride today.

Packed

This morning’s poem comes from my ever frenetic attempts at organization and prioritizing. There’s always more to do. And now after that. Beauty of life. When it runs out, there’s no life left. Even so, I feel like I’m sending my brain spiraling around inside my own skull sometimes.

Missing Spots