[William A. Baurle]

Ann, you never cease to amaze me. WOW.

[Roger Slater]

Ann, wonderful poem indeed. It caused me to investigate whether a dog would indeed eat its owner, and you will be eerily cheered to know that your poem is factually accurate.

[derek fenton]

One day the light will just go out.
Everything that happened before
will be as futile as a shout
behind a soundproof door!

[Ann Drysdale]

Thank you, Rogerbob.

I was pretty sure I had the truth of it when I wrote of it, but a little extra evidence never goes amiss.

But me? And my dog? "Well", as Larkin says, "we shall find out".

[Roger Slater]

It makes you wonder whether it only occurs to them after you die, or they've actually been eyeing you for years and mentally salivating at the prospect.

*

By the way, my "Resumé" poem posted above is one of the Poems of the Week in Light.

[Ann Drysdale]

I clicked on "Light" and that, too, led me to the dogstruth...

[Roger Slater]

Oops. Try again.

[John (J.D.) Smith]

The Size of Things

Things get smaller as we age,
As verified when we return
To childhood’s home—too small a stage,
Too cramped for anyone to learn

A mother tongue, a social grace,
To ride a bike, to add a sum,
But every place remains in place
And states its earthly, firm I am:

A once-big desk at once-big school,
A shrunken church, a shrunken store,
An oceanic backyard pool
Diminished at its bluegrass shore.

So here our letters were addressed
Once we had left for brighter lights,
Which we’ve since seen, and aren’t impressed.
The old, familiar smallness blights

The capitals of foreign lands,
Stunts their mountains, tames their wilds.
Repetition comprehends
Our making love, and what it yields.

Such secrets as exist are bared,
And after some score years are done
We’re full of time and stand prepared
To face the world to come, or none.

[Douglas G. Brown]

Originally Posted by Roger Slater

Ann, wonderful poem indeed. It caused me to investigate whether a dog would indeed eat its owner, and you will be eerily cheered to know that your poem is factually accurate.

I knew a retired man in the nearby town of Brooks, Maine, who "died in the saddle" with a pay - for - play woman who he hooked up (no pun intended) on Craigslist. He died of a heart attack from an overdose of bought - on - the - Internet (i.e., non - prescription) Viagra.

The "lady" discretely vamoosed down I - 95 to her home in New Jersey. It was late winter, and the decedent was left locked up in his rural house with two German shepherd dogs and three cats.

About 10 days passed before anybody called on him. Yes, indeed, a dog will eat his deceased master. But, the cats also participated. A friend of mine who knew him well was called in by the Sheriff to identify the remains. Though my friend had hunted and butchered deer for 40 years, this was the "grossest thing he ever saw".

For some strange reason, his estate could find no buyers for the house. It was burned, and the land sold a few years later. The man happened to be a retired sheriff deputy from western New York state with old Mob connections.

There is a moral here ... several, in fact.

[Ann Drysdale]

Thank you, Douglas. It always makes me happy when people read my stuff and say "true, dat". I am still actively engaged in the eternal search for Truth, but I like to tackle Reality along the way, to keep my hand in as it were.

Perhaps it's unduly British, or wimminly, of me to ask, but do you know what happened to the animals afterwards?