Breathes there the Peep with soul so dead,

  who never to himself has said,

     This is my own, my native land.

Whose heart has ne’er within him burned,  

     as homeward his footsteps he has turned

     from wandering on a foreign strand?

If such there breathe, go, mark him well…

    Blah, blah, blah.   That’s all I can remember of this drivel  the old woman Slow just LOVES to recite when we sit out on the front porch of our house on Worsham Street.   Yeah, give the old girl a Lone Star longneck beer or one of those Big Girl drinks with bourbon and branch and plop her down in her favorite rocking chair on the front porch and there’s no telling what the daffy old twit might say.   She must think  she’s SMARTER when she sits in that chair or that AnyPeep or Pup listening might be INTERESTED in what she has to say because she rarely just sits and rocks.   No sir, not a chance.   She talks and talks and talks some more.    She thinks she’s waxing all eloquently like some philosopher when she sits and rocks in that chair but truly she mostly blithers some bumfuzzled bullshit.  Hey, that ain’t no Magic Rocker making you Brilliant all of a sudden, old woman.   You need a Magic CAPE like Harry Potter or Batman or Superman and you’re fresh out of those so give it a rest.

Zippity-do-dah, zzippity-ay.   My, oh, my what a wonderful day.   Oh yeah…it’s great to be back in my Texas ‘Hood.   My front yard is looking good, and the back one has my favorite running buddies who run the fence with me barking and twirling just like I do.   That bitch Bella is her usual anti-anti snarling self.   I notice Smokey Lonesome Ollie isn’t sticking his big black nose through the fence for her to bite like she did when we were here the last time.   Heh, heh.   That was so funny I had to pee on the spot where he yelped like he was shot.   Maybe old dogs can learn to keep their noses on the inside of their fences.   LOL.   You won’t catch Yours Truly making that mistake.

I saw Badger through the fence across the street, and he’s his happy-go-lucky-leaping-as-high-as-his-fence self.   His Peep, one of the Little Women of Worsham Street, has already been over to our house for a visit, but she’ll have to bring him when we can play in the yard, I heard her tell Slow.   It’s so frigging HOT down here now that I can only run and bark and twirl at appropriate intervals.   I have to pace myself.   By the way, nobody bought the house next door yet and it sure is quiet without Lexie and Tooley and Miss Scarlett and Bandit and Juicy and Jackson to run the fence and bark and twirl with me.   I hate to admit it, but I really miss those guys.   They never bit us, either.   A major point in their favor.

Auntie Am took us for a walk yesterday after the old woman Slow left for Houston to visit Granny Selma who is older than dirt by now.   Of course, I havent’ seen her yet but Slow told Auntie Am she’s about the same.   Not much going on in the old canoodle, if you catch my drift.   I’ll have to catch up with her later.

And I’ll have to catch up with my Amigos later, too.   I’ve got yard patrol before it gets too HOT…