Bad ideas for stories:
It’s a day for small dogs.
The Swedish Meatball Brigade
Onerous Iona and the Stinking Sea Shit
“Well, you know what they say…
…they say a lot of things.”
To burp or fart is to decant one’s soul.
There are times we live in, and then there are times we live through.
One of these days I will learn how to live in a world I did not choose.
A Prayer for a Pekingese
What do you do
when the distance between those wild ancestors
and yourself seems to shrink in the depths of middle-night,
when the call of your blood is a roar in your ears,
when the night unfolds to its full expanse
and you shiver involuntarily at the chill whip of the wind,
when mother night comes a callin’
and sings to you the sweet song of the hunt,
do you cower in your cushioned bed, your coddled corner,
trembling in the terror your domesticity demands of you,
or do you call back,
lift your chin and howl for the cold beauty of the moon,
free that restless shudder you can’t contain,
press your paws into the raw, bare earth
and let your blood sing with the song of the wild?