July ���� Buster Gets a Bath When I pick him up and tilt to the bathtub he falls limp with shock This cannot be. . . .
Then it’s dark thoughts from dark eyes, the dog I love so much hates me A torture worse than death. All sudsy now, scent of clover and dead leaves washed away with lavender and lemon. How could you? The sprayer — that cobra of doom strikes again and again. Even if it feels good I’ll never say so. After a brisk towel rub he springs all over the house a hero home from the war The bath? It was my idea. — Ashley Memory
The Art & Soul of the Sandhills
PineStraw
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