Thursday, August 18, 2011

Puppy Love

Henley Patches Stewart Hooper

'And they call it puppy love...'  Ah, yes, and how true it is!  I am in love with a sweet, little puppy called Henley!  He is a Jack Russell Terrier mix, not quite two months old.  Henley came home to us on Monday, 15 August.  He is just the most adorable puppy in the whole wide world.

Has it been an adjustment?  Absolutely.  Have the baby girls adjusted?  Not quite, but they are making progress each day.  Are we happy we made the decision to get a puppy - no doubt in our minds!  Perhaps my nose was a bit disjointed at first - I've only been asking for a puppy for two and half years, since we moved down here.  My hubs was dead set against it and nothing changed his mind.  Quite amazing that only one month after living with us, my niece was able to change his mind...hmmmm...

Who cares?  I have my puppy.  I am Mamma; Luna is Mommy; of course Terry is Daddy.  All three of us have fallen in love.  The cats will follow, I'm sure.  Have I said that he is adorable?  Have I said that he is the smartest puppy ever?  He already knows how to sit, he is close to knowing his name (of course we just finally decided on the name yesterday!), and he is pretty much house trained.  What more could we ask for?

So, Henley, welcome to our world!  Puppy love is fantastic!

Thursday, August 11, 2011


Life has been busy for the past month or more and I haven't had time to write much of anything.  But this morning while perusing Facebook, a question was asked 'What inspired you to start writing poetry?'  Thought I'd share my response here on my blog.

Back when I was 9-10 years old, I gave my Mom a little book for her birthday or Mother's Day; it had a bunch of poems, with pictures.  One was William Wordsworth's 'Daffodils'.  The picture was a beautiful array of yellow daffodils that mesmerized me; the poem and the photo touched my spirit in a way that cannot be explained.  I wrote my first poem shortly thereafter.  Certainly not a masterpiece, but there began my love of writing.  Here is the poem:

Daffodils by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.