Dogshit and Buddy (Then and Now)

Dog Shit and Other Saturday Morning Rituals

In the morning we awake to
dog shit on the kitchen floor,
Cody our family dog is getting old,
he can no longer control his bowels,
this is not the first time,

“That dog has got to go!!” cries my wife;

I suppose she’ll want to get rid of me too
when I start shitting on the kitchen floor.

Upstairs my grandson
watches Saturday morning cartoons,
Hercules or some other super hero, I think,
when it is over he and I will go to McDonalds
for out ritual hotcakes and sausage,
he usually eats all the sausage and
about a quarter of the hotcakes,
I eat the rest,
I think that is my role in life now,
to finish eating what he cannot,
someday he will grow up and eat
everything on his plate;

I suppose I will starve to death then.

Elsewhere my 15 year old
comes bursting through the kitchen door,
fresh from spending the night
at her best friend’s house,
“Watch the dog shit!” I cry out,
“Ooooooh! Gross!” she replies,
then bounds up the stairs to her room,
where she will sleep most of the day
after being up all night
talking to boys on the phone;

she thinks I don’t know about these things.

Meanwhile I get out the paper towels and lysol
to clean up Cody’s shit,
who looks at me with deeply apologetic eyes,
“It’s ok” I tell him;

“we’re all getting old.”
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Pain In The Ass

My 4 year old grandson
is a little pain in the ass,
always looking for new ways
to get in trouble,
always wanting to do
exactly what you don’t want him to do.

He spent a week and a half with us
down at the shore,
the day his mom took him home
I bought him a Franklin doll
and a bag of candy,
he tore the hat off Franklin,
and when I tried to hug him goodbye
he hit me in the mouth with the bag of candy;

now it’s real peaceful and quiet;

I sure do miss that little pain in the ass.
__________________________________
 
Buddy

I look
at you now,
I see the years passing before my eyes,
I feel the changes taking place;
only yesterday you were the little boy
eating McDonalds hotcakes and sausage,
watching spongebob and rugrats,
screaming “yeckkk!!!”
the first time I took you fishing,
then throwing the worms into the lake.

Now you stand on the edge of manhood,
no longer the wide-eyed little boy holding my hand
on the boardwalk at the shore,
begging “please Pa!, please Pa!”
at every miniature golf or arcade passed,
a tiny bundle of energy,
never slowing down;

exasperating yet so endearing
at the same time.

I remember towing you around the pool
by my beard,
both of us laughing so hard
I thought my side would burst,
playing whiffle ball for hours on end,
never ready to quit,
always ready for a new adventure
whenever I could find the time;

of which there never seemed to be enough.

Now you hit baseballs over fences,
with a busy schedule and little time,
which is the way it should be,
as natural as the setting sun,
but no matter where you go,
or what this life has in store for you,
always remember one thing;

I love you buddy,
more than you can ever know.
.
.