{"id":285,"date":"2009-07-03T14:29:47","date_gmt":"2009-07-03T18:29:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/cynthomas.com\/dogblog\/?p=285"},"modified":"2009-07-03T14:29:47","modified_gmt":"2009-07-03T18:29:47","slug":"im-dog-poet-yes-i-know","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/cynthomas.com\/journal\/im-dog-poet-yes-i-know\/","title":{"rendered":"I’m a Dog Poet (and yes, I know it)"},"content":{"rendered":"

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\nI don\u2019t like things that have no smell.<\/p>\n

For me, that is a violation of a sacred trust.<\/p>\n

No smell! \u2026 what are you hiding?<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I like the smell of the wood under the piano,<\/p>\n

And my pillow stuffed with their old shirts and socks.<\/p>\n

The scent of their hands are wholesome and familiar,<\/p>\n

Even though they are often almost buried beneath the<\/p>\n

Plastic stench of perfumed cleaners, or faux-leather tennis shoes,<\/p>\n

The kind that, if I were still into chewing, I would never waste my time with,<\/p>\n

Preferring instead to gum fervently, almost maniacally, the baseball glove,<\/p>\n

Or the Italian handbag, with great apologies to my distant cousin the cow.<\/p>\n

The couch is some kind of synthetic blend, though I like it more for what<\/p>\n

Lies in layers on top of it.<\/p>\n

Ice cream and tomato sauce, dirt and spit, sweat and salt.<\/p>\n

The children of course are treasures.<\/p>\n

Each day flying through the door with something<\/p>\n

Not immediately identifiable.<\/p>\n

And that\u2019s saying something given the mileage on this smooth brown nose.<\/p>\n

It could be play-dough, or crayons or wood chips.<\/p>\n

If might very possibly be that thing, the name escapes me,<\/p>\n

That they use to clean the toilet, or the liquid they dump on their little heads,<\/p>\n

When they itch and scratch for a few moments before they lose themselves in play.<\/p>\n

But the greatest smell, the most calming air is, of course, the house.<\/p>\n

The combination of all of the above.. the food and the blood,<\/p>\n

The salt from the little ones tears,<\/p>\n

The dirty window sills that no one ever finds the time to clean,<\/p>\n

The garbage hidden under the sink,<\/p>\n

And the sad but comforting memories of my friends the cats,<\/p>\n

Who loved them before I came along<\/p>\n

And who I hope to see again sometime, not too soon.<\/p>\n

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