Thursday, July 01, 2004 Pop pop pop
Here is one way to tell the difference between my living situation in The Greatest City in America and my living situation in Philadelphia last year: those pops I hear are fireworks. In Philadelphia, one of the neighbors had a bad case of high spirits, and a machine gun.
People in that neighborhood kept horses in their yards. Once, when a visitor from another town was told about this fact, he said, "Are they up on blocks?" They weren't. They seemed happy.
This isn't a horse neighborhood. This is a dog neighborhood. Everyone here has 8-10 purebred dogs that glow in the dark and breathe fire. Not really. Just kidding. But the dogs are still fantastic.
David keeps gently reminding me that I have yet to write a song about Goblin, who is probably the best dog in the neighborhood. I refer to all Boston terriers as goblins now, but I realize that this is not enough.
Unfortunately, I am not a composer, so here, instead, is a poem. Here's a bonus, though: Like the poems of Emily Dickinson, it can be sung to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."
In Baltimore—the Streets are mean.
A Compact Little Dog
After a Squirrel or through some Dirt
Debates if she will slog—
The NeighborHood complains all Day
How dogs are prone to Poo
Jerks like them had better learn:
To love Dear Goblin Foo!
posted by Frenz | 7/01/2004 11:39:00 PM
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