in the 80s and 90s we had a cat named snoopy, who was a very cute cat

we bought him with another cat named fluffy who ran away to die back in the 80s

and probably reincarnated into someone else, you see snoopy probably hated

my yelling at my parents, and despite me being very nice to him up close

he probably me yelling at my mum and dad, and snoopy was worried about

what could happen to him next, you see i was drinking pretty heavily and i had

multipersonality disorder and i was very wild, and despite snoopy not noticing

it in me, my mum and dad surely noticed it, you see i was missing people in my life

and snoopy found it hard to cope and eventually was struggling and died, but snoopy

didn’t stop living and he reincarnated as chazz petrel, who was a troubled kid with autism and

mental illness, and he was determined to show me one day what i looked like to his previous life

snoopy cat, you see chazz brought on violence to his family as well as bringing on problems

you see chazz was in and out of institutions and was bullied a few times and he suffered a lot

apparently his parents were dealing with a lot of trauma, like my parents were dealing with a lot from me

and chazz was determined that he won’t die straight away, he really wanted me to understand

that fighting parents is wrong, because the only problem is chazz was a kid who suffered a lot

and snoopy was releasing problems that i showed mum and dad, but sometimes snoopy realised

that he was too restless for a cat, and he had to release his negative energy he got from me

you see in the year 2014,, just after chazz’s 12th birthday, chazz took his own life on august 31

and chazz was saying, this is stupid, and now chazz has reincarnated as the youngest puppy on

the youtube family bratayley and as the puppy ran around he was running off aggression from

chazz, it is not good that chazz had died and it’s not good i put snoopy through all that pain

but i feel that soul has been calmed almost ready to prepare for nirvana, mending each blade of grass

Nos jeunesses avec Monsieur Snoopy


C'était le noble fils d'Isky
Yorkshire au caractère vif
Betty l'avait eu en cadeau
De Ginou, comme un joyau.
Dans ses jeunes ans, vêtu
d'un pelage noir et boucle.
Il semblait une variété
d'écureuil plutôt qu'un chien
Mais sa passion était de jouer
Et de mordiller aussi .
Mais ce chiot était déjà
Un jeune combattant téméraire.


Venu avec nous a Lille
Il apprit a courir les pigeons du Beffroi.
L'été prenant le cargo avec nous pour la Corse,
Il débarquait aphone ayant aboyé toute la nuit.
Dans l'île, ce chien anglais se portait comme un charme,
et se jouait des ronces du maquis.
Il dégotta même une ruche sauvage d'abeilles près du ruisseau le "Fiume".


Mais de caractère dominant
Et n'ayant pas appris les mœurs de la meurtre,
Il refusa la soumission au dogue de "Zeze"; "Fakir",
qui le prit dans sa gueule et le fit tournoyer sous la camionnette du boucher ambulant.
Il en fut quitte pour quelques jours de peur panique,
Puis ne manqua point de frétiller de sa queue pour saluer le chef de meute selon la coutume des chiens.


Rentrés a Lille, je vis un film de Claude Lelouch,
Ou un restaurateur avait entraîné un coq a saluer les clients,
Aussitôt, je m'efforcais de renouveler l'exploit avec Snoopy juche sur mon épaule ou l'appui tête de notre Fiat.
Mais ce chien indépendant et fougueux ne voulut rien entendre.
Las et envolées les idées de montreur de chien savant.


Le chien Snoopy n'aimait guère l'eau, ni douce, ni salée,
mais une fois plonge dans les flots,
de ses pattes il se faisait des nageoires pour rejoindre sa maîtresse se baignant dans les flots.


Âgé  de seize ans, la grande vieillesse venue,
dont le malheur veut qu'elle marque le cadrant de cinq fractions de vies d'hommes,
Une année fatidique le désormais vieux chien fut gardée à  Luchon par mes parents pour lui éviter le chenil du cargo,
Aussi un soir attablés au restaurant "La Stonda" nous apprimes l'affligeante nouvelle,
Le vivace Snoopy n'était plus, Je nous revois encore les yeux baignés de larmes comme si nous avions perdu, la meilleure partie de notre jeune âge.
Car il fut le premier chien de notre âge adulte,
Notre fille Celia mêla ses pleurs aux nôtres,
et cette nouvelle pourtant bien prévisible apporta une touche de chagrin à ce mois d'août d'ordinaire, si plein de Lumière et de soleil.

Nous avions perdu notre premier chien et notre grand ami de ceux qui ne vous trahit jamais.
Snoopy fut pour nous notre premier amour de chien.
Solide cabot au poil argenté, aux oreilles en pointe dressées au moindre bruit.
Il accompagna nos jeunes années de couple, alors sans enfant,
et enjolivait notre vie par sa fantaisie et ses facéties.
Joli descendant des chiens de mineur du Yorkshire, il sut nous donner pour toute notre vie l'amour des chiens anglais.

Paul Arrighi

HI DUDES

THIS IS THE MANY SIDES OF DAD, FIRST HE WILL BOP TEACHING US MUSIC

OF HIS TIME, AND THEN TELL US TO EAT NICELY AT THE DINNER TIME

HE WOULD SING, OH ROSIE, LET’S DO THAT FOR THE BOYS

COME ON SUSIE, ROCK AND ROLL

AND THENN AFTER WHEN I ATE LIKE A SLOB AT THE DINNER TABLE

DAD WOULD CHEW HIS FOOD, LIKE AN OLD GRUMPY MAN

I WAS A BRATTY LITTLE KID, DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS

HI FROM LADY, IN A LADIES VOICE

HI FROM SNOOPY IN A BIG MAN’S VOICE

HI FROM FLUFFY IN A POXLEY LADIES VOICE

YA SEE FLUFFY WAS THE CAT LIKE MISS PIGGY

I USED TO HAVE ARGUMENTS WITH THE CAT, SAYING MY BROTHER PUT ME IN CHARGE

AND HE SAID, SNOOPY, HE CALLS ME SNOOPY, YOU ARE BOSS OF YOURSELF

WHEN I AM AWAY, AND I WANTED TO BE THE ACTING MASTER, AND HE SAID

NO, YOUR BROTHER SAID SNOOPY, YOU ARE THE BOSS

AND DAD SANG THIS SONG WILD BILL HICCUP, OR SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT

AND MY BROTHER SMILED AT ME, CAUSE, THAT LADY’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE FLUFFY’S VOICE

YA SEE WE HAD CONVERSATIONS FOR THE CATS ALL DAY, BUT WHEN DAD WAS ANGRY

HE LET IT SHOW, I LIKED WHEN DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS, BUT I HATED GETTING ANGRY TO MAKE HIM ANGRY

YOU SEE DAD WAS A BIT OF A STICK IN THE MUD, TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY

I HATED THAT, BUT I WAS LIKE THE KIDS AT THAT STAGE

BUT I TOLD DAD, TO GO AND **** A LEMON, HE GOT MUM’S FRIENDS TO DANCE

TO HIS VERSION OF SINGING IN THE RAIN, YA KNOW, CHOO CHOO CHA CHOO CHOO CHA

BUT I TOLD THE WORLD THIS, BUT I WANT DADS HUMOUR IN THE WORLD

DAD’S ADVICE NEARLY GOT MY HEAD PUNCHED IN AS I COPIED THAT

LIKE IF SOMEONE SAID, WHAT AM I LOOKING AT TWIRP, DAD TOLD ME TO SAY,

DUNNO HASN’T GOT A NAMETAG ON IT, BUT CANBERRA COULDN’T EXCEPT THIS

MAYBE, IT IS OFFENSIVE, TO THEM, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T STAND FOR THE ANZAC DAY

I WAS GETTING MIXED MESSAGE OF DAD AND THE YOUNG DUDES, CROWDING MY HEAD

I DON’T MIND THAT, CAUSE NO KID WANTS TO BE TOTALLY LIKE THEIR FATHER

MY BROTHER WAS A LITTLE COOL KID, WHEN HE USED TO TEASE ME, AND THEN USED

TO GET INTO FIGHTS WITH ME BY THE POOL, I MAYBE HATED AT FIRST

BUT I AM NOT LIVING WITH PAST TEASING, I USED TO THROW STUMPS AT MY BROTHER

HE WAS SAYING, I WASN’T A COOL KID, I SAID, HE WASN’T A COOL KID

WE FOUGHT, WRESTLED, AND PLAYED BACKYARD CRICKET

WITH ALL OUR NEIGHBOURS, OH YEAH THAT’S COOL AS

DAD LOOKED LIKE DADDY LONG LEGS, AND MUM WAS MUMMY SHORT LEGS

AS THEY WERE HAVING A HIT IN BACKYARD

I HAD MY VERY OWN FOOTBALL LEAGUE, AND I PLAYED FOR BRIGHTON

AND DAD PLAYED FOR CCAE, WHICH IS NOW UNIVERSITY OF CANBERRA

AND DAD SCORED ABOUT 1000 GOALS SITTING IN THE FORWARD POCKET OF OUR FRONT YARD

I USED TO GET SICK OF DAD LOOKING AT ME, AT BEING A LITTLE SHY BOY

I HAD MY PLANS TO GET ON TV, THANKS TO MY BROTHER, FOR MAKING IT EASIER

I AM SUFFERING, BUT I FEEL POSITIVE ABOUT HITTING THE BIG SMOKE

BUT MY BROTHER AND DAD’S SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOT ME THINKING

WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE TOO IMAQGINATIVE, BUT IT MADE ME THE COOL PERSON I AM TODAY

I PERFORMED IN TWO PLAYS, URBAN DREAMINGT 2003, AND MOVE SPEAK ACT FOR MINDSCAPES

IN 2014, I HAVE TO SIT TIGHT, BUT THERE IS TRUTH IN THE FACT, THAT BIG THINGS HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WAIT

EVERY BLADE OF GRASS TO BE SOWN, MOVE SPEAK ACT HAD FUN WITH MY EVERY BLADE OF GRASS THEORY

IN A THEATRICAL WAY, MADE ME FEEL GOOD, DAD ALWAYS SAID, TO START SMALL

DAD GAVE ME A COMPUTER, SO I CAN BE FAMOUS ON YOUTUBE, WELL, HE WAS GIVING ME THE COMPUTER

CAUSE I NEEDED TO LEARN, BUT DAD USED TO TELL FUNNY JOKES TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS

THEN HE STARTED TELLING HIS LIFE STORY

I HOPE, IF DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL GET CATS OR DOGS, YOUR FUTURE TWINS IS MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS

TALK FOR THE CATS, YA SEE ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE ALIKE, IF YA LISTEN TO THEIR HUMOUR

IROBIN WILLIAMS DID IT IN HOLLYWOOD, DAD DID ITWITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, THINK ABOUT IT

ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE THE PERFECT TWINS, BUDDHA DID THIS, SO THEUY CAN CROSS PATHS

LOOK OUT DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL, YOUR  TWINS ARE FUNNY

**** ANY MAN OUT OF YA COTTON PICKING HEAD, I PREFER DAD MATURE

I LIKED HISV FUN SIDE, **** HIS BIG BIG MAN, I WAS SITTTING ON THE COUCH

CAUSE OF THE FUN DAD HAD

BUT I HEAR VOICES NOW, OF ME GOING TO JAMISON SLIDE

AND SPENDING 2 HOURS ON THE SL;IDE, ATTENDING POOL PARTIES

DAD PROBABLY THOUGHT THIS WAS COOL, BUT I WAS NOT A LITTLE PARENTS BOY

I WAS A FAMILY PERSON WHO LOVES LIFE

BRING DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TOGETHER JIMMY BARNESY’S GRANDCHILDREN

BOBBYE DAD, ENJOY NEXT LIFE WITH RW

I just want to write because I want you to read
And all the old stuff is the older me
But my words are jamming
Underneath the keys
Running jumbled mess
That fails to expain my feelings
I don’t quite have the words to say
I love the way you stay
But don’t cage me in
The way you claim to like me
But haven’t quite dove in
How you talk and talk
Knowing that I’ll listen
And how you seem so sweet
So very genuine
Stay the same
Never change
Snoopy n his house
Simple loving life
Open hands
Open heart
Smile lifes to short.

For some reason
I remember Snoopy
—Don't ask me why
             For I couldn't tell you—
I remember the Snoopy t-shirt
She wore
And that I got really excited
Because I love Snoopy

It's strange
What you remember
What bits and pieces you keep
I remember her reading
Shyly spilling words at the front of the room
And everyone
—Everyone—
Leaning in to hear
That soft, enchanting voice

I remember keys
Lots and lots of keys
A whole hand of them, in fact
An art project I watched emerge
As she wielded a hot glue gun

It's mostly the poetry I remember
—And her smile
            But who doesn't?—
I can see her standing at the mic
Enthralling her audience
Mesmerizing them
Keeping them hanging on her every word
She was a star
There was no doubt
A poetic star
We talked through her poetry once
Tweaked it here and there
Changed some tenses
Fixed some commas
But most importantly
We decided
That when "night sloughed off its veil"
It should be day
Once more

Looking for Snoopy

Rollin’ on that rhythmic rollercoaster
My knuckles dead white, I can’t
Lose it on this lightspeed slant
Of fire, feeling those flashes
As the thunder thrill goes faster

Are you diggin’ what I’m sayin?
I ain’t gonna scream, got some
Dignity under this blue dome
Are you shakin, it’s bootin’
You ain’t got time for tremblin’

I’m targetin’ the sparklin’
Sky full of that shinny gold
So I can start believin’
I’ll reach someone I hold
Dear in my throbbing heart

Are you diggin’ what I’m sayin?
I ain’t gonna tremble until I touch
The silvery stars to rush
My present to your present
In the myriad of the moment
A doggie you’re still drawin’

Turns out I found this fellow
Surviving on this swayin’
Spinning track trippin’
I put him in papers that glow
To your doorstep delivered
Hope you’ll enjoy, recovered

That merry memory
Packed with awesomeness
Allow some silliness
From California and me
Happy birthday Mommy
With love and pink cherry

February 15, 2015

Strep throat. Out of nowhere really. I went to a meeting on Friday, interviewed at PaperSource on Saturday afternoon, and then just slightly later an awful toothache. I never suspected anything so out of the ordinary to occur. Saturday night, two to four a.m.ish, i thought it was caffeine pills, or not drinking enough water, or even, worst of the worst, an attack of hypochondria. I kept lighting up Marlboros though, tasty red branded things that make writer's mouths happy. Two days in and I'm pretty sure my ***** are a fever below my body, droopy like snoopy. Super soft droopy *****, that's a sure sign of a fever or a great BJ they taught us in 6th grade science, and I wasn't getting my favorite ice cream social.

I hadn't talked to the gf in a couple days, and missing her company I made the phone call only discover that my voice had turned into a baby turtle shouting English from the bottom of a stuffed baked potato. Garbled. Discussing. Useless. I promptly hung up, and began texting. But it was too late she heard me and called back, and I had to give it all I had to put together a few words.

An hour later I was dropped off at the ER, the benefits of Medicaid at 30 is never being able to just go to the doctor's office. Within 2 hours they told me it was strep. Four nurses, two residents, one first day resident, and a 2nd year resident, and the ER doctor for a swab and a spray, and the take home Z-pack.

Then she said she'd come over even though I was sick. That's real love. "If I get sick from you, it's still worth it." 3 days on antibiotics, no more sore throat, I feel great- I think tomorrow I'll be having an ice cream social for someone who I love dearly. Maybe we'll even skip the ice cream.

If you danced from midnight
to six A.M. who would understand?

The runaway boy
who chucks it all
to live on the Boston Common
on speed and saltines,
******* in the duck pond,
rapping with the street priest,
trading talk like blows,
another missing person,
would understand.

The paralytic's wife
who takes her love to town,
sitting on the bar stool,
downing stingers and peanuts,
singing "That ole Ace down in the hole,"
would understand.

The passengers
from Boston to Paris
watching the movie with dawn
coming up like statues of honey,
having partaken of champagne and steak
while the world turned like a toy globe,
those murderers of the nightgown
would understand.

The amnesiac
who tunes into a new neighborhood,
having misplaced the past,
having thrown out someone else's
credit cards and monogrammed watch,
would understand.

The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it "The Night of the Long Knives")
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.

The insomniac
listening to his heart
thumping like a June bug,
listening on his transistor
to Long John Nebel arguing from New York,
lying on his bed like a stone table,
would understand.

The night nurse
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you "we"
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.

Once
this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoes
were danced to pieces.
Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.
The king sent out a proclamation
that anyone who could discover
where the princesses did their dancing
could take his pick of the litter.
However there was a catch.
If he failed, he would pay with his life.
Well, so it goes.

Many princes tried,
each sitting outside the dormitory,
the door ajar so he could observe
what enchantment came over the shoes.
But each time the twelve dancing princesses
gave the snoopy man a Mickey Finn
and so he was beheaded.
****! Like a basketball.

It so happened that a poor soldier
heard about these strange goings on
and decided to give it a try.
On his way to the castle
he met an old old woman.
Age, for a change, was of some use.
She wasn't stuffed in a nursing home.
She told him not to drink a drop of wine
and gave him a cloak that would make
him invisible when the right time came.
And thus he sat outside the dorm.
The oldest princess brought him some wine
but he fastened a sponge beneath his chin,
looking the opposite of Andy Gump.

The sponge soaked up the wine,
and thus he stayed awake.
He feigned sleep however
and the princesses sprang out of their beds
and fussed around like a Miss America Contest.
Then the eldest went to her bed
and knocked upon it and it sank into the earth.
They descended down the opening
one after the other. They crafty soldier
put on his invisisble cloak and followed.
Yikes, said the youngest daughter,
something just stepped on my dress.
But the oldest thought it just a nail.

Next stood an avenue of trees,
each leaf make of sterling silver.
The soldier took a leaf for proof.
The youngest heard the branch break
and said, Oof! Who goes there?
But the oldest said, Those are
the royal trumpets playing triumphantly.
The next trees were made of diamonds.
He took one that flickered like Tinkerbell
and the youngest said: Wait up! He is here!
But the oldest said: Trumpets, my dear.

Next they came to a lake where lay
twelve boats with twelve enchanted princes
waiting to row them to the underground castle.
The soldier sat in the youngest's boat
and the boat was as heavy as if an icebox
had been added but the prince did not suspect.

Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.
The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roseland
as if those tickets would run right out.
They were painted in kisses with their secret hair
and though the soldier drank from their cups
they drank down their youth with nary a thought.

Cruets of champagne and cups full of rubies.
They danced until morning and the sun came up
naked and angry and so they returned
by the same strange route. The soldier
went forward through the dormitory and into
his waiting chair to feign his druggy sleep.
That morning the soldier, his eyes fiery
like blood in a wound, his purpose brutal
as if facing a battle, hurried with his answer
as if to the Sphinx. The shoes! The shoes!
The soldier told. He brought forth
the silver leaf, the diamond the size of a plum.

He had won. The dancing shoes would dance
no more. The princesses were torn from
their night life like a baby from its pacifier.
Because he was old he picked the eldest.
At the wedding the princesses averted their eyes
and sagged like old sweatshirts.
Now the runaways would run no more and never
again would their hair be tangled into diamonds,
never again their shoes worn down to a laugh,
never the bed falling down into purgatory
to let them climb in after
with their Lucifer kicking.

Maybe. Maybe I said it. Maybe.
Maybe I said, “I love you.”
And maybe. Maybe. It was too soon.
And maybe you panicked or I panicked or we panicked.
And maybe we should have waited longer.
For a lunar eclipse to kiss and whisper it under.
Or at least at the top of a Ferris Wheel.
Even soft neon lights of a gas station before a road trip to say… Disneyland would do.
But maybe.
I didn’t wait. And I said it the first time it bubbled out of my chest like mercury and tried to force itself out of the corners of my eyes, shining like mirrors.
And  maybe we panicked.
And maybe you’ll decide to take some time.
And I’ll think it’s a good idea.
And you’ll get around to painting your bedroom walls blue.
And I’ll finally finish that replica of… Big Ben.. made from… toothpicks.. or some ****..
And you’ll get that job for that network.
And I’ll decide to be a carnie, because my feet have always felt so much better on the road.
And you’ll laugh.
Just maybe less…
Or not as hard..

And I’ll learn to roll cigarettes and run the Ferris wheel. And wind up with an eye patch from a freak dart accident in a pub in Scotland. And get sun leathered skin. And road earned muscles.

And I’ll master all the rigged midway games.

And you’ll have a better time in France than the last time and make it back to Greece to see the oracle. And learn to play the violin.

And I’ll develop a keen sense of when to pause the Ferris Wheel to leave the couple at the top just.. one.. moment.. longer..

Or at least secretly teach him how to throw the dime to win her the really big ******* Snoopy.

And I’ll wonder if you ever wake up and look for me.
And you’ll wake up sometimes and look for me.
And I for you.

And maybe I’ll get self absorbed and write the rest of this poem from my perspective.
But probably not.
And maybe one day I’ll go to the fortune teller to find out how you are. And where you are. And you won’t be far away. But I won’t want to intrude.

And then the fortune teller will tell me not to play the game where you knock the milk bottles over anymore because fortune tellers say weird **** like that sometimes..

And maybe I’ll listen..

And maybe I won’t.

Maybe one day, I’ll forget and teach the nerdy highschool kid how to beat the milk bottle game so he can get the frosted mirror with the cheesy rose and the word ‘LOVE’ in cursive for his girlfriend, because *******, sometimes you have to help the underdog  get the girl.

And maybe the gypsy will be right..

And those bottles.
At that moment.
Were some kind of cosmic key.

And as they topple over, all hell bust loose and pours violently out of the mouth of the bottles.

And demons flood into our world in waves.

(And if she kisses him at the top of the Ferris Wheel? Totally worth it.)

And in time, the world would have to notice.

What with the Leviathan coming out of the ocean and the dead rising from their graves and the four guys on horses and all the pesky locusts.

And did I mention the Zombies? And the vampires? And the Vampire Zombies?

And who would have thought that the adorable little fairies would be carnivorous and cannibals and just plain mean?

And maybe it would attract the attention of Aliens. And that U.F.O. you saw that one time in Texas. And maybe the U.F.O’s would attack and fight the Leviathan, which would be kind of bad ***.

And the zombies would fight the vampires and the vampires would fight the zombies and the Vampire Zombies would fight themselves and the Zombie Vampire survivors would find that they had a distinct taste for Soy.

And maybe us carnies would have enough experience with sledgehammers and haunted houses that we’d be rather good at fighting zombies. And I’d be particularly bad *** because of the eye patch and leathery skin and hand rolled cigarettes that I chew on more than smoke. And maybe I’d go lone wolf and ride a motorcycle. Which is also kind of bad *** and I’d do okay considering the apocalypse and all because honestly?

I’ve never been all that scared of ghosts and devils. And the UFOS are busy with the Leviathan and their really is only four of the horseman and we keep a professional distance just the same and the locusts and the fairies are at war, besides locusts don’t bother me, save for the noise.

And look..

I guess what I am really saying is this:

I think maybe I could survive.

And I think maybe I could rescue you.

And maybe we could fall in love.

Grandma had a clever dog;
She raised him from a pup.
And when he learned that he could talk
You couldn't shut him up.

His tail was just a nubbin
And he had a flattened mug.
He looked like a short boxer
So grandma named him pug.

Grandma told us what he looked like
For we never saw the cuss.
Her walking, talking, Pug Dog
Was invisible to us.

She said he'd always been around,
As far as she recalled.
Her mother told Pug stories
Before grandma even crawled.

Every family has traditions
And I guess I'd have to say,
Pug tales have been our custom
Right down to this very day.

When grandma gives a long deep sigh
And says, "Now, one day Pug. . ."
We know a story's coming
So we sit down on the rug.

We nestle up beside her
For a tale we've never heard.
And everyone gets quiet
So that we won't miss a word.

The stories grandma tells us
Of the things that dog can do
Can hold any child's attention,
Even fill a book or two.

Grandma's Pug tales outdo Rin-Tin-Tin
And even ******-Doo.
He's a smarter dog than Snoopy;
Smarter than Lassie too.

Pug has traveled  far, to distant lands,
And even outer space.
He's done every thing there is to do
And he's been every place.

He always gets in trouble
For there's nothing he won't try.
He has traveled in a sub-marine,
Flown airplanes in the sky.

He has even been arrested,
More than once broke out of Jail.
But the family loves him dearly
And we always pay his bail.

Where grandma gets her stories from
I guess I'll never know.
But even down through all these years
Her Pug tales grow and grow.

I know someday when grandma sleeps,
And her life on earth is gone,
The Angels all will gather
To hear Pug tales all day long

Noun.
The mother of ones father or mother. (mother)
Elderly. (Died December 28, 2011)
Kind. Sweet. Gentle. (If there is a paradise, she is there.)
Bright. Thoughtful. (She made me a Snoopy apron one year for Christmas.)
Loving. (She raised 6 kids, took care of her husband for 55 years, and always made waffles for breakfast when grand-kids came to visit.)
Loved. (by all who knew her)
Missed. (by just as many)
Survived. (1 husband, 6 kids, 4 grandkids, many friends.)