The Eight Lives of Sam The Dog March 12, 2012

Sam is a junkyard dog–a “Heinz” (57 varieties) dog, but above all, Sam is ours. He has had eight lives, that we know of.

Life #1

Sam lived in the city dog pound.  Dad brought him home to live with us. Dad just had to save Sam’s life. He seemed like a nice-enough dog, friendly and all that, but…Sam did not like to be kept in a closed space, and we lived in the city.

Life #2

 Like, I told you, Sam did not like being closed in; he burrowed holes under the wooden fence–once, twice…so many times, I thought Mom would kill him.  Not even the splinters in his paws, or a broken tooth would deter him.

Life #3

Sam finally made it!  He sped out into the street.  The cars honked and beeped, but that didn’t stop Sam.  Not even the squeal of their tires threatened his freedom.  Luckily, neither Sam nor the cars ever made contact.

Life #4

Sam fell into the pool once, twice…so many times, and someone always fished him out.  He was usually an ugly sight! Long hair soaked, hanging drippy, shivery Sam, but he still lived.

Life #5

We decided to move to the desert.  Sam wanted to go out at night.   We had no fences (which was fine with Sam).  Outside, we heard him growl and make a mad dash for the bushes.

“Sam! Sam!  Come back.  There may be danger there for you.”

When we saw a bobcat take off across the field, we knew Sam had handled that.  He trotted back to the house, triumphant conqueror.

Life #6

Sam had never seen a cactus.  He did not know you were not supposed to run through them or step on them.  Sam had so many cactus needles in his paws, I was sure he would never survive.  He whined and cried, but we got them all out, I think.

Life #7 

Sam barked to go outside.  He ran back and forth in front of the windows.  He whined and begged until we finally let him out.  Then, he sped to the edge of the clearing.  He planted his feet, beared his fangs,  and growled savagely.  We thought he had gone mad…until we saw the coyotes scatter.  They didn’t even have time to howl, and Sam came away with not a tooth mark on him.  Sam made it again.

Life #8

Sam was alone.  He did not like to be alone in the house, all closed in.  He scratched the door.  He gnawed the window sill.  Then, Dad saw the mess.  I was sure all of Sam’s lives were over.

With one more life like that

I’d be telling you about a cat! 

My Definition of Writing May 17, 2011

Writing is a compulsion–an irresistible impulse, an unsatisfied appetite for unlimited imagining,  for unfettered creation.

Waking in mid-sleep, I have this tantalizing vision.  The emerging dawn feeds the desire to enhance the night revelation with exotic elements, salient modulation, and energizing expression.  Hours and countless phrases later, my physical appetite overtakes my penchant for words.  My “moving picture” is put on pause, but my creative brain continues to race.  With my sticky fingers, I grab my newly sharpened sword and swing into action to trap the ensuing images for further exploration and exposure.  I continue to work tirelessly to bring my readers “uninterrupted  viewing” in “living color.”

My gift is to create!

My creation this time is  verse:

Writing…

Compulsive control——Consuming continuity——Pervading passion

Tantalizing torment——Vacillating views——Crafting characters

Imagining imagery——Broadcasting beliefs

Productive loneliness

Filling dreams

Writing.