True Love

He Did Things His Way

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn’t come at all.

When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.

Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn’t drag.
He’d dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I’d grab him, he’d turn and bite me.

He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn’t read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.

He set the house on fire
But the story’s long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house–
I guess I’m the first to retire.
And as I’d leave the room he’d look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I’d give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I’d fish it out with a smile.

And before very long
He’d tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.

And there were nights when I’d feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I’d pat his head.

And there were nights when I’d feel this stare
And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I’d feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.

He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he’d be glad to have me near.

And now he’s dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.

And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he’s not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn’t so,
I’ll always love a dog named Beau.

True Love

No Dogs in Heaven

No Dogs in Heaven2

Otis was one of the best dogs I ever met, it was such a pleasure to love and care for him. Spent some really beautiful time with him running and playing and fetching. Clocked a few hours in pet stores spending a billion dollars buying a billion things that he might need or enjoy and brought him to the dog spa to make him even more soft and big and pretty. Got him a huge ass solid juicy motherfucking bone and he chewed the good goddamn out of it with an amount of determination, concentration and gusto that is heartbreakingly characteristic of the canine kind. So much time had passed since I had a dog of my own that I forgot how easy it is to bring immediate and aggressive delight to any given series of moments to any given dog, and how much that delight can truly touch you. Dude loved the shit outta that goddamned bone, so much so that I felt like I was enjoying the shit out of a big bone too. Will Rogers said if there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. I already feel like that, I don’t need to be dead.

True Love

How The Fight Started

I asked my wife, “Were do you want to go for our anniversary?”
It warmed my heart to see her face melt in sweet appreciation.
“Somewhere I haven’t been in a long time!” she said.
I said, “How about the kitchen?”
And that’s how the fight started…

I asked my wife to buy me a case of beer.
Instead, she bought herself a jar of cold cream.
I said, “The beer would’ve made you look better than the cold cream.”
And that’s how the fight started…

My wife said, “Take me some place expensive!”
So I took her to a gas station.
And that’s how the fight started…

My wife and I went out to a restaurant.
The waiter for some reason took my order first.
“I’ll have the strip steak, medium rare, please.”
He said, “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?”
“Nah,” I said, “She can order for herself.”
And that’s how the fight started…

My wife stood naked looking into the mirror.
She wasn’t happy with what she saw.
She said, “I feel horrible. I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a compliment.”
I said, “Your eyesight’s damn near perfect.”
And that’s how the fight started…

True Love



I’ve long been in a special kind of love with César Millán and rest in peace with Daddy too. Out one evening walking with friends, I was calling myself The Poo Whisperer, I pointed out poo errant dog owners had neglected to collect, considered it and offered confident conclusions like, “German Shepherd. Six years old. Poo dates back to Tuesday late afternoon.” I think so far I have never been wrong.