Pet Peeve

This entry started as a rant on Facebook, but it became kinda long, so I thought I'd contain my ideas to a blog entry that the curious can view. Or not. This, you may understand, is a thinly veiled ploy to get myself writing more regularly. However, I doubt a poem will be born of this entry. You can thank me later.

That preface being stated....

Those of you who know me know that I love dogs. I have two of them who have been faithful companions--sometimes, their company is preferable to that of most people most of the time--I am an introvert, after all.  It's not that I don't like people--I do, but in small doses. There's something about hanging out with and taking care of my pups that causes me to slow down and reflect, which is what I need to do A LOT as an introvert. Please note I did not say "project"--that's part of my rant (see below). Taking care of my dogs also brings out the closest thing I can liken to a "mothering instinct", though I realize that dogs and young children are not the same.

Rugrat and Phoebe

Because I love dogs, my pet peeve may come as a surprise: people who have blogs and FB pages for their dogs AND write in their dogs' voices. You may be asking yourself how I know these exist; it's not as though I go online seeking out something against which to rail. My awareness of these pages is the result of some of my Facebook friends commenting on them, seemingly during the wee hours of the morning. I don't know if this is a new form of sleeptexting or if they're just out of it for whatever reason. In any case, when those friends of mine comment on these postings, it goes into the newsfeed that I see when I'm on Facebook.

Here's an excerpt of what I saw this morning on Cora the Wobbly Pittie Girl:
I iz not going to push it and say that her home will embrace habing a doggie     furbaby... at least fur now.... but what a huge obstacle our new furiend habs obercome!! I iz hoping that her will now "make the rounds" and go and make furiends wif more ob mah furfuriendz, so her can see that many kindz ob "big" doggies are happy, and furiendly, and werthy ob LUB. So, you send me a message fanking me fur helping you open your eyez.... to that I respond "oh no!! Fank YOU fur totally making mah day, mah week, and pawsibly mah year!!! " And, yes, if her lets me know when her birfieday iz.... I will ob course sing to her too!! Today iz like the most PAWsome day eber already!!

I can barely read this, and I like to believe that the reason is not because I don't read dog. Where did this start? Why did people begin blogging in the presumed voices of their canine charges? Is it the result of the dog memes on I Has A Hotdog?

However it began, the example from Cora the Wobbly Pittie Girl is probably the penultimate worst dog blogging example to which I've been subjected. I'll concede that there may be an intelligent, affable pooch out there somewhere who knows the difference between an "s" and a "z" and doesn't interject the words "fur" or "paws" into every other word at any opportunity, but Cora's page does not give me cause for hope. These ghost dog bloggers make their dogs sound like idiots, which I don't think is their purpose. But who knows? Maybe these people are so low and down on their own luck, that they're trying to raise themselves on the species chain...over dogs. Or perhaps their own writing skills are so poor, but they have such a need to express themselves, that that do so through a dog blog. That's like projecting yourself onto a dog, the psychological ramifications of which I'm not totally comfortable.

Jung would say my discomfort stems from my shadow, a part of my own personality/psyche with which I'm uncomfortable.

This, too, brings me to a place in which I'm not totally comfortable.

What this long-winded rant boils down to is this: some people are writing these blogs in dogs' voices, and that's really sad...almost as sad as this blog about this phenomenon.

I'm going to walk my dogs.

A Butterfly's Path

Lately, I've been thinking a lot--maybe too much--about changes. I've been thinking about the nature of loss and the change/moving on that can follow. 

Yesterday on my morning walk, a butterfly flew by me and lit on a leaf. I stopped to watch it, because it was really unique--its wings were mainly an iridescent blue spotted with the white dots of a monarch. The edges of its wings were rimmed with window panes of rust. It was beautiful. After I admired it for a couple of minutes, it flew over and landed on my arm, and we hung out for a few minutes before it flew away.

The butterfly sort of looked like this...but not quite...but you get the idea.

I wondered if that monarchesque insect would eventually become a full-fledged monarch with orange wings and if monarchs, once they break free from their chrysalis, continue to change their form.

I thought about this image all day. I listened to songs about loss and change, particularly Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' The Boatman's Call.

Not sure if this link is working...but look it up 

on YouTube if you're so inclined. :)

And this morning, I wrote a poem. 

That Blue Bloom

Stumbling over rugs in the house of dawn, I

Listen for your song on the wind. Many days

find me waiting: a face drawn in an upstairs

window, watchful eyes seeking your shade

cruising down my street on a motorcycle, in

a truck, on a bicycle, on rollerblades or foot.

Outside, the sun rises and sets, splaying rays

on grass carpets rippled by Zephrys’ breath.

Feathers in hand, whorls of sage smoke rise,

prayers slip through my lips, and longing

beats its tired wings, flying towards a world

from which you watch, face drawn in a cloud.

© Kate McClure 2014