Saturday, March 19, 2011

Tucker's first full supermoon

Last night's supermoon reminded me of nothing less than an empty food bowl. While one might have expected me to have bayed at the stunning sight, the only yowls I let out were ones of hunger, after being woken from my early bedtime and dragged outside.

I couldn't help but be reminded of that sweet little kitten in Kevin Henkes' Kitten's First Full Moon, who sees the moon and wants it, then thinks its reflection in the water is a bowl of milk (hey, wasn't that a dog story to start with—remember, in Aesop's Fables, the dog sees the reflection of his bone in the water and is so greedy that as he opens his mouth to scoop up the supposed second bone, the real one falls into the drink). Anyway, Henkes' kitten finally laps up a real bowl of milk. I guess I can forgive Mr. Henkes for turning the dog into a kitten, him having won the Caldecott Medal for it and all.

A satisfying tale, perfectly done. But I digress.

I stumbled along the edge of the pond, bleary-eyed. Mom, always eager to see a natural event, woke practically everybody in the neighborhood, so I didn't have to do anything, voice-wise. However, when she tore our friends Carol and Don away from their pasta to see the trumpeted supermoon, I tried to insist they return to their dinner. They are so good-natured that they were not even deterred by my jumping on them, my paws over Don's shoulders in a weird kind of dance. So we all took in the supermoon, and then, properly awed, and after more than a decent interval, went home. In retribution for the interrupted sleep,  I demanded several treats and a peanut butter bone.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Pi day, or is it pie day?

I was so excited when my math-focused sister told me today was pie day—I'm crazy about it! Then, when I noticed she was knitting mittens with three stripes, then one stripe, then four stripes, in this nutty pattern that had no pattern at all, I nudged her several times with my oversized nose. Where, after all, was the pie?
An empty bowl is a sad thing. Dirty, too. Where's that maid?

I suffered through her explanation. But look, the one circle I care about is my bowl. Whether it's full or not is the only thing I'd even dream of calculating at suppertime.

But in honor of Pi Day, and looking ahead to National Canine Poetry Fortnight, I herewith present my Pi poem. The syllables represent the first few digits of pi, which, I learned, is 3.141592653...and since pi is infinite, food is the optimal subject of my poem. Just don't try to measure my diameter. Paws off!

For the Love of Pi (e)
by Tucker

Tell you true.
love pie, pie, pie.

Apple, cherry, plum
All make scrumptious pickings for my tum.

If one
Should even try to take
Precious pie away—
Hear me bay.

Awooooooooo ad infinitum

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Canine Poetry Fortnight: two weeks to go to the dogs

I'm going to carve out my own two weeks out of March, and I suggest you do the same, in recognition of National Canine Poetry Fortnight. It's an apt precursor to National Poetry Month, which for all of you who are not in the know, is in April. I wouldn't expect my readers to know of National Canine Poetry Fortnight, because I just invented it.

Pet peeve: when writers say something like, "Lady Gaga, for all of you who have been on Mars for the last few years," which assumes that all of course know of Lady Gaga, or whomever. Dogs cannot set up iTunes accounts, our paws are not deft enough to work iPods, and some of us live in families whose musical taste is not all that au courant.

But I digress, as usual. To kick off National Canine Poetry Fortnight, and because I do like to plan ahead, I have composed a couplet:

On Fame
by Tucker

I never grow tired
Of being admired.

Thanks to Lorna at the newly-renamed Wellesley Books for not only being one of my most ardent admirers (although how could one gauge the depth of such adoration as I get when I enter that fabulous home of treats) but also for her inspiration.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

My purpose driven life

Does everyone have a purpose in life? Is each unique? As everything I do is purposeful, I'll focus on just one of my many purposes today: identifying Volvo vehicles. That is, C-A-Rs, as my family insists on calling them, as if I didn't know how to spell.

The question is not what is my purpose. The question is: what is the need for my purpose? I wish more would consider this question as they purposely go around doing whatever they seem to need to be doing.

I, however, believe I have uncovered potential needs. For example, were the police looking for a Volvo vehicle, and somehow could not find one, I could. Or, if some mall shopper somehow misplaced his or her Volvo vehicle, I could easily sniff it out from a whole parking lot full of various makes and models. I can even identify particular models, and certainly can tell which ones need servicing. Ah, there's another need!

My methods are proprietary, but here's how a mere human can tell I have identified the right one: I perform a perfect Plop O'Doom right there in the parking lot, or the middle of the road, even in the thick of traffic. "And all he could do was sit, sit, sit, sit," complained Mom to Dad, clearly addled by yesterday's too hearty celebration of Dr. Seuss' birthday.

Though she did not like it, not one little bit, one must not quail in the face of duty.

P.S. What is the difference between purposeful and stubborn? Let me elucidate. Purposeful: having or showing great determination or resolve.  Stubbornness: showing dogged determination, especially when confronted with good reasons to the contrary not to pursue that doggone determined goal. As in, "My stubbornness in refusing to leave the side of a Volvo, though it wasn't ours, this morning in 10 degree weather, came from my having purposefully sought it out and identified it."

Monday, February 28, 2011

Waking up is hard to do

The stretch.
OK, vaca is over, so that means I actually have to get up sometime in the a.m.
The fluff.
Bright-eyed and ready to go.
However, it is not easy. Nor desirable, if any precipitation is happening, or even in the offing. Also, I'm not at my best immediately after waking: I need a bit of a fluff, one might say, plus some serious stretching. If all of America prepared for the day as I do, plus received a min of three hours of exercise, we'd be in much better shape.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Who'll stop the rain? Or provide a pop-up palanquin?

Given that people think they're in control, why can't they fix the weather? I've been griping all day, to no avail. Can't they take me somewhere where it is not raining?

Mom tried, though it was a not-even-half-hearted effort. That is, she drove to the mailbox. What was she thinking, that it wasn't going to be raining 100 feet away? That somehow a little cloud was hovering right over our house, throwing raindrops down at just us?

In any case, mailbox trip or not, I let myself be coaxed into the car—back seat, of course, the wayback being just a bit too close to the wet stuff dripping off the roof. I also had to be coaxed out—once we safely were back in the garage.

I like a ride, as you know, and the back seat is much cozier than the wayback. Plus, it has built-in pet bowls. You know, if we were traveling, and got stuck somewhere, it would be good to stash some extra food in there. Bet that's not in the typical car emergency kit. Also, that kit should include a dog umbrella; better yet,  a pop-up palanquin on which I could both rest and be protected from the weather.

A palanquin, if you didn't know, is one of those covered couches, mounted between poles that are carried by four to six minions. I definitely would need six. The term comes from the Portuguese, based on the Sanskrit for bed or couch. Which reminds me...time for a nap.