I ended up being livid A vision of ugliness vivid I realized the crowd was driven Acting as if it was their duty civic Red hats were using his gimmick A lie that he thought fitted His followers were all scripted His postering they all mimicked Getting their priorities twisted Against all others were pitted Waving the flag was a given Proving their loyalty to the wicked Lying and deceiving not admitted Providing a tumultuous exhibit On their January 6th visit Now expect to be forgiven? I can’t.
A horse is a horse of course unless it’s Mr. Ed who talked via Allan Rocky Lane who was sometimes hoarse after rehearsal. Bamboo Harvester played Mr. Ed and passed away in 1971. He was usually stationary in his stall while talking to Wilbur on the TV set of “Mister Ed”. No need for a script on stationery for the horse, but he was trained by Les Hilton to move his lips every time is hoof was touched.
I choose to soar, seeing all from above in this endless sky of blue or even through heavy grey clouds, I choose to soar.
I’m watching, waiting for you to recognize how you have lost your way, abusing nature’s gifts to you. Your actions prove you are not worthy, at least not yet—it’s almost too late to change.
The clues are prominent and should not be ignored. What are you going to choose? As for me, I only serve as a warning, because unlike you, I can choose to soar above it all.
“I don’t know why you keep all these foolish things, they should go to the dump!” Martha was starting to tear up, realizing these surroundings would no longer be her future. The new apartment was impressive at first, everything fresh and clean, not needing constant repair as this home. She didn’t want to gainsay her son, but the new space seemed cold and vacuous.
Maybe it was time for a change. There had been so many in the last few years she wondered when her mind would catch up with them. Having to put beloved items in storage, away from her vision, was just another goodbye.
I am a very handsome, full breed, because that is indeed very important, Shih tzu, and that is the correct pronunciation. It has a silent “t” in it, and even though some humans say it wrong intentionally, it does in my opinion, demean our proud heritage.
However proud I may be, I have to admit the curse of being the runt of my litter (what an unfortunate word, really!). I was small and had a lazy eye, so when everyone else in my family were purchased, I was left to linger on smelly, soiled newspaper clippings in a glass box at the mall’s pet shop. Do you like being poked, stared at all day? Of course not, and none of us pet shop offerings do either!
A friendly, sweet girl came by the pet shop every day, lifting me carefully, scratching my ears, hugging me. I loved this girl, she was gentle and caring. One day I actually was thrilled to see her discussing me with the shop owner. Since I was growing and by his estimation not a perfect candidate for adoption, he gave her a discount. Such is life for those of us who have owners. Owners, not parents. We are not children. We may choose to act like a three year old at times, but that is usually put aside with love and training. Maybe we are vaguely similar to children, but I digress.
My life was perfect with this young woman until she decided to marry and have children. Those disgusting, two legged pull on your ears and tail, stepping on your toe, horrid little humans. I became the third, no, fifth wheel in her vehicle of life. I no longer received the attention I, of course, deserve and showed my discontent by nipping, no, not biting, a little nip! Well how would you react if someone was toddling around and landed on you, laughing? I had enough. I showed it in actions best not reported here.
As a result I ended up in a different home, known by my sweet girl human, as “mom and dad”. My new adventure started and my true personality respected. I was revered, loved and catered to. What a life!
I know what you mean, Ethel, it’s these modern times. Nowadays they let everything all hang out. At least back in the forties we had the common sense to hide our bicycles behind the corn crib!
I still remember that dreamboat Jimmy–how cute he was, all shiny sweaty from helping our daddy in the hay field.
Yep, me too. Those “ciggie” breaks were fun, eh Alma?
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