Here it is the weekend again. Someone once told me that Saturdays are for smiling. And so I am smiling, as is my great-grand-dog, Champ. He loves the weekend when his “people” are home for two whole days. Happy Saturday.

Here it is the weekend again. Someone once told me that Saturdays are for smiling. And so I am smiling, as is my great-grand-dog, Champ. He loves the weekend when his “people” are home for two whole days. Happy Saturday.
Here is another lovely poem by my sister about one of the guide dogs she trained and sent out into the world to help the blind.
Sam, a Guide Dog
I walked beside you one last time
though you didn’t know that it was I
along a path of autumn gold
beneath a brilliant azure sky.
Another walks beside you now
The one that you were chose to guide
I watched as you strolled along
Older now and still so wise
Memories came and in my mind
I saw you as the pup I raised
Happy, leaping, full of fun
You were the easiest to train
Years have past and here we meet
Quite accidentally and to my surprise
Even though I smile with pride
I feel the tears in my eyes
Time cannot erase love that’s shared
And even though we had to part
And you belong to someone else
Still you live within my heart
©Mary Frances Martin
Look what I found on You-Tube! One of my granddaughters has a German Shepherd named Champ. I’m dedicating this song to him. I hope they get to see it.
It never ceases to amaze me how we can hear the same words over and over in our lives and yet misinterpret them so profoundly. For instance, a young lady among my youngest son’s teenage friends had often heard her parents discussing the news as “it’s a dog eat dog world out there”. She really tickled us one day by referring to a particular news story, and drawing the conclusion that “it’s a doggie dog world out there”. Thinking of this memory brought to mind all the dogs that have touched my life in one way or another over the years, including beautiful Tyra, one of my nine grand-dogs who went to doggie heaven at Easter time this year, just before her fourteenth birthday. Thinking about all these pets reminded me of a poem I wrote back in 1974 when my own dog, Penny, was forever running away to play in a nearby stream. The poem has nothing to do with that, though. I don’t even know how it inhabited my brain, but here it is.
WOE IS MOE
I have this dog, his name is Moe
he follows me wherever I go.
While tackling my daily jog
I’m followed by this doggone dog!
He cramps my style
I tell him “Scram!”
But soon he reappears with Sam.
Sam is Moe’s best pal, you see
and now they both are dogging me.
At last I’ve done half a lap
but Moe and Sam have done the track.
Joined by Jigs along the way,
these dogs think I am out to play.
Now jogging isn’t play to me,
I take it very seriously,
until I looked around and found
we’d added quite a large greyhound.
Now Grey and Jigs and Sam and Moe
all follow me wherever I go.
It follows that I gave up jogging
and the dogs have had to give up dogging.
Now I sit at home and pine
for some good old dogless jogging time.
©1974
I’m aiming for a little humor today. Is anyone out there smiling?