'...hounddog-digging...'

Hydrangea macrophylla 'Big Daddy'. 

Aging gracefully (and yes, I included this one yesterday - a smaller version - but I just really love how the flower stalks turn a beautiful violet as this mophead ages).

~~~~~

Today was busy.

First a meeting with my architherapist and a prospective builder at my place.  (Now that seemed like a big step!). 

Then lab meeting - followed by another meeting that lasted for the rest of the afternoon.  I hate when my days get swallowed up by meetings, but for one exception:  lab meeting.  That meeting I never mind. 

There's interesting chatter, sharing of data - and of course the lab's Poet Laureate read us a poem.  This week's poem was particularly interesting (and one that required Katherine to take a deep breath before reading to us) - and the poem was by a poet born in South Carolina, now residing in California - and, according to the lab's Poet Laureate, he'll be reading Monday evening (21 July) at the East Bay Coffee House.

~~~~~

Map by Atsuro Riley

Daddy goes.
         Trolling and trawling and crawfishing and crabbing and bass-boating and trestle-jumping bare into rust-brackish water and cane-poling for bream and shallow-gigging too with a nail-pointy broomstick and creek-shrimping and cooler-dragging and coon-chasing and dove-dogging and duck-bagging and squirrel-tailing and tail-hankering and hard-cranking and -shifting and backfiring like a gun in his tittie-tan El Camino and parking it at The House of Ham and Dawn's Busy Hands and Betty's pink house and Mrs. Sweatman's brick house and Linda's dock-facing double-wide and spine-leaning Vicki against her WIDE-GLIDE Pontiac and pumping for pay at Ray Wade's Esso and snuff-dipping and plug-sucking and tar-weeping pore-wise and LuckyStrike-smoking and Kool only sometimes and penny-pitching and dog-racing and bet-losing cocksuckmotherfuck and pool-shooting and bottle-shooting over behind Tas-T-O's Donuts and shootin' the shit and chewin' the fat and just jawin' who asked you and blank-blinking quick back at me and whose young are you no-how and hounddog-digging buried half-pints from the woods.

~~~~~

'...hounddog-digging....'.  Sounds like The Dan.  She's got the 'Trench of Dan' going in the front yard.  She enjoys doing it so much, I haven't the heart to reprimand her.  It's an impressive ditch, she smiles while she's digging it.  What else can I do but...let her?

Comments

[3D]

"She enjoys doing it so much, I haven't the heart to reprimand her."

I know exactly what you mean. It's summer, and our cat LIVES to go outside at night. It's more-or-less the only thing the animal wants. And so, I give in.

Even though:

(1) It's dangerous because the street's busier than it looks, and there's a fox who sometimes lives in the irrigation canal across the street (where the cat, of course, heads like a bullet to get to),

and (2) It's illegal here to let your cat run free.

But the cat's happier when he gets to go out and do cat things.

Also, that poem was... Outstanding.

[Pam]

3D, I really like this poem too. Alot.

As for doing Dog-things and Cat-things, it is one of those times when the wisdom of Hawes would come in handy, don't ya think? She did know EVERYTHING.