Last week was our pup Falcor's 1st birthday.  You wouldn't know it though.  He is the consummate goofball.  He enjoys such hobbies as jumping over his brother as if he were a hurdle, chewing and retrieving the 'orb of life' (aka. a tennis ball), and flipping over on his back and rabbit kicking his brother until he will play with him.  He doesn't act a day over 6 months.

I'm an alien.

"i'm your alien"

I promised myself that i would write him a birthday ode, and here it is:

Ode to Falcor on his 1st Birthday:

Munch
Snort, flip-turn, ready position.
Spring-back.
runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun.
HOP. pounce. munch.
lick
licklicklick
licklicklicklicklicklicklicklicklicklick.

those cartoon grey orbs of your stare just beg for more playtime.
"Just one more fetch momma . . . . pleaseeeee."
The breakneck enthusiasm as your grey-blue flashes across the ever-changing seasons.
Undisillusioned to their cycle, you chomp crisp leaves as you wonder what wayward weather will arrive next.
and how high will you be able to jump in it?

And, for a puppy, there is no dusk.
No curtain call.
Just stage time.
Acting out our own memories of carelessness.
Before nuzzling his way back into our hearts

to recharge for tomorrow.

______________________________________

At the bar, upstairs, there appeared a mini-notebook with assorted one line musings.  It was left, for public consumption, in a small space by the register.  I saw it last night and decided to add a poem.  I took a picture, cause it lasts longer: