by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
The U.S. Census sent around a sample questionnaire a couple of weeks ago in preparation for next year's real census, the one the Trump administration is still trying to shape to fit its political agenda. Basically the "sample" census wanted to know about the people who were in residence at my home on the evening of July 1st. After sending it out, the Census folks immediately began hassling me to get it turned in - well ahead of the July 1st date of interest. That was not easy to do because sometimes the people residing at my place can vary due to a variety of circumstances.
The dog population, however, remains relatively constant.
Rosie, of course, is here whenever I am - it's her home. And Riley, my son's very large - and old - Boston Terrier is also here most of the time. This past week has been a tough one for the dogs, especially Riley who is deathly afraid of fireworks. For the past seven days or so my sylvan idyll has been besieged by the nocturnal noise of firecrackers going off from around dusk until midnight or so. My quiet retreat in the woods sounded more like the ramparts getting rammed at Fort McHenry! (Thanks, DT, for that fake imagery!)
And poor Riley has spent all of those nights hiding in the darkest corner of my bedroom, where he undoubtedly felt safest.
Today's poem, a simple verse penned by an animal lover in the early twentieth century, tells the story of "Bonfire Night" (the actual night of the Fourth?) from a dog's perspective. Apparently many of the helpless creatures were just as scared then as their descendants are now.
This one is for Riley and any other creatures who have been scared and stampeded by "civilization." The numbskulls will soon have shot off all of their money and peace will once again prevail. Stay strong, my canine and feline friends, better days are at hand!
Firework Night
by Enid Blyton
(By your dog and mine)
BANG!
What's that?
Bang-Bang! Oh, Hark,
The guns are shooting in the dark!
Little guns and big ones too,
Bang-bang-bang!
What shall I do?
Mistress, Master, hear me yelp,
I'm out-of-doors, I want your help.
Let me in - oh, LET ME IN
Before those fireworks begin
To shoot again - I can't bear that;
My tail is down, my ears are flat,
I'm trembling here outside the door,
Oh, don't you love me anymore?
BANG!
I think I'll die with fright
Unless you let me in tonight
(Shall we let him in, children?)
Ah, now the door is opened wide,
I'm rushing through, I'm safe inside,
The lights are on, it's warm and grand -
Mistress let me lick your hand
Before I slip behind the couch.
There I'll hide myself and crouch
In safety till the BANGS are done -
Then to my kennel I will run
And guard you safely all the night
Because you understood my fright.
Poetry Appreciator
The U.S. Census sent around a sample questionnaire a couple of weeks ago in preparation for next year's real census, the one the Trump administration is still trying to shape to fit its political agenda. Basically the "sample" census wanted to know about the people who were in residence at my home on the evening of July 1st. After sending it out, the Census folks immediately began hassling me to get it turned in - well ahead of the July 1st date of interest. That was not easy to do because sometimes the people residing at my place can vary due to a variety of circumstances.
The dog population, however, remains relatively constant.
Rosie, of course, is here whenever I am - it's her home. And Riley, my son's very large - and old - Boston Terrier is also here most of the time. This past week has been a tough one for the dogs, especially Riley who is deathly afraid of fireworks. For the past seven days or so my sylvan idyll has been besieged by the nocturnal noise of firecrackers going off from around dusk until midnight or so. My quiet retreat in the woods sounded more like the ramparts getting rammed at Fort McHenry! (Thanks, DT, for that fake imagery!)
And poor Riley has spent all of those nights hiding in the darkest corner of my bedroom, where he undoubtedly felt safest.
Today's poem, a simple verse penned by an animal lover in the early twentieth century, tells the story of "Bonfire Night" (the actual night of the Fourth?) from a dog's perspective. Apparently many of the helpless creatures were just as scared then as their descendants are now.
This one is for Riley and any other creatures who have been scared and stampeded by "civilization." The numbskulls will soon have shot off all of their money and peace will once again prevail. Stay strong, my canine and feline friends, better days are at hand!
Firework Night
by Enid Blyton
(By your dog and mine)
BANG!
What's that?
Bang-Bang! Oh, Hark,
The guns are shooting in the dark!
Little guns and big ones too,
Bang-bang-bang!
What shall I do?
Mistress, Master, hear me yelp,
I'm out-of-doors, I want your help.
Let me in - oh, LET ME IN
Before those fireworks begin
To shoot again - I can't bear that;
My tail is down, my ears are flat,
I'm trembling here outside the door,
Oh, don't you love me anymore?
BANG!
I think I'll die with fright
Unless you let me in tonight
(Shall we let him in, children?)
Ah, now the door is opened wide,
I'm rushing through, I'm safe inside,
The lights are on, it's warm and grand -
Mistress let me lick your hand
Before I slip behind the couch.
There I'll hide myself and crouch
In safety till the BANGS are done -
Then to my kennel I will run
And guard you safely all the night
Because you understood my fright.
1 comment:
This was the mildest 4th of July we've ever experienced here. We hardly heard any fireworks until the 4th of July, and then a few the day after that. Maybe the fireworks laws are being enforced really seriously this year. ?
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