Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Don't. Stop. Don't stop.

She walks slowly up to him from behind
careless and refined.
Her feet fall perfectly in line with his
she hesitates in the stillness

Side by side, their eyes meet.
She pulls back then just enough to make him quiver
and presses her face ever so gently into the side of his jaw.

She whispers...
Douchebag.

Next thing I know, it's like a WalMart riot in the middle of my office floor. I've had to get out a whistle. After about a week I managed to get some control over the situation but now they're switching up the time and place.



Fortunately we all went a-dogsitting this last weekend at Aunt Beverly's house (pictures to follow) and the two of them got to get some of it out of their system ripping through the yard and engaging in all manner of Smackdown-type maneuvers. It's really a joy to watch although when they get running I feel like all the humans should have a helmet on.

We're off to obedience school tonight. I hope Diesel can hang with the other dogs and not be too stressed. If he can make that particular hurdle, I suspect he'll be an honor student.

3 comments:

loveandaleash said...

i love the poem, and the expressions on their faces. awesome.

Beverly said...

HAHAHAHAHAHA what a riot! Love the poem.

Karen said...

"Douchebag", awesome. You tell him Stella.