Two toads emerged in my neighborhood, Seeming as different, night to day, Holding my int’rest, long I stood; One looking less toad-like than it should Rife with tendencies, it seemed, to splay. Observing the other, as it were, And no doubt owning fitted structure, Neatly assembled, as toads prefer,

I glanced out of the driver’s side window of my car, toward the bus stop, just in time to see 230 lbs. of frustration and insecurity, packed in a flowery muumuu, wielding what looked to be a King James Bible like it was a set of nun chucks.

Marching through the meadow Where all my thoughts are kept; Striding forth with purpose, Minding where I stepped. Past the Tree Of Memories That once was just a seed;

Left follows right…right follows left…night follows day…animals follow their instincts…and younger siblings often follow their older siblings down the same career path; sometimes with remarkable results. Look at Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë; or, Orville and Wilbur Wright; John, Robert and Teddy Kennedy; Britney and Jamie Lynn Spears; Ulysses and Cary Grant.

Forelegs locked in pious pose The Mantids make their plea; Though, who responds to these appeals The Mantids can’t agree. “A Mantis spirit”, some will claim, “Who gave his wings for all.” “A triad set of Insect Ghosts”,

My physician enjoys the classics, And often he’ll charge by the word; Exchanging his service for fables, Those written for children preferred. The ones with the bear are his fav’rites, With Eeyore and Piglet and Owl; Home in a wood of three acres, Where Tiggers and Christophers prowl.

A recent news story about a painting dog was an enormous success if its primary mission was to fail to impress me. I’ve seen a chicken play piano, a chimp use sign language, and a horse count. Heck, one weekend in the early ‘70’s I’m pretty sure I saw one doing algebra.

Vanquished From the Catbird’s Seat By P H Burns The gaping door, the swinging perch, No chirping to be heard. Esther saw the cage was light… By just about one bird. No ripple in the water dish, Nor feathers in the bed.

Gwendolyn is embroiled in a bitter battle with the pug next door. I believe she blames him for the hole in the front yard. The neighbors have done their best to back my explanation that the hole is the responsibility of the German Shepard down the street, but she isn’t having any of it.

First, to newscasters who report “The car, It swerved to miss the cat and wound up in the neighbor’s living room”, or “The Governor, She signed the bill, but used invisible ink”; Stop it.