My Imagination: Poodles, Doodles, and Noodles (for the kiddies) This is the unpublished sequel to my published book for children, "My Imagination".

The sniffles kept me home from school;

I have a temperature.

I’ll bet my friends miss me today;

I’m missing them for sure!

The rain is pouring down outside,

 As I watch from my bedroom. 

My chin is on the windowsill

And my day is filled with gloom.

Mom’s preparing chicken soup

To soothe my stuffy head.

I’m tired of being cooped indoors

And lying in my bed!

I’ve watched TV, read some books,

Done homework and played with toys;

But, still I’m bored and lonely

And my head is full of noise!

I’m feeling rather down, no doubt,

And my exhausted body aches me;

I thinks it’s time for me to go

Where my imagination takes me.

It’s raining cats and dogs galore

Around my neighborhood.

I’ll bet my imagination

Can make this day seem good!

It’s raining felines everywhere

There are canines by the oodles!

Raindrops turn into kittens

And puddles into poodles!

Poodles are running all about—

Some pink, some orange, and blue;

A lemon yellow Laborador

And red Chihuahuas, too!

Mr. Nelson’s car next door,

Which once was soaked with rain,

Has become a massive brute—

A giant, blue Great Dane!

He frolics up and down the street;

He’s chasing cats and poodles

I think I’ll give this Dane a name…

I’ll call that big boy “Doodles”.

Purple cats are climbing trees

At Mrs. Johnson’s house;

One of them is running from

A little speckled mouse.

Collies, Shepherds, and Bulldogs,

Black ones, white ones, gray;

Puppies raining from the sky

Can brighten any day!

Kittens in all colors,

Sizes, shapes and such;

My imagination

Lets me see so much!

A Greyhound rides Ricky’s bike

                        As Doodles rides mine, too!

                         Daschunds turn into hot dogs

As gray skies change to blue.

There are cats in every color

A few are wearing clothes.

Some pansies turn into Yorkies

With little yellow bows.

As sunshine lights the sky again,

They have a celebration

All the dogs and cats and rainbows

From my imagination!

When mommy brings my chicken soup

The creatures disappear;

She sees the smile across my face;

“What’s going on up here?”

“It’s raining cats and dogs outside!”

“That’s right,” my mother said.

“Now, leave that windowsill, my dear,

And settle into bed.”

She set my cup of soup aside

And helped me into bed;

And then she took my temperature

And kissed my cool forehead.

I told her of the things I’d seen,

As I sipped my chicken noodle;

Of kittens falling from the sky

And the puddles that were poodles.

It was my imagination

That helped me realize

There’s more to rainy days than gloom

And gray and cloudy skies.

The next time that you’re lonely

Or you’re bored, or sick or blue,

USE YOUR IMAGINATION…

Something awesome waits for you!

http://www.amazon.com/My-Imagination-Katrina-Estes-hill/dp/0974571563/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1298745862&sr=1-1 

Rags by Edmund Vance Cooke

We called him "Rags." He was just a cur,
But twice, on the Western Line,
That little old bunch of faithful fur
Had offered his life for mine.

And all that he got was bones and bread,
Or the leavings of soldier grub,
But he'd give his heart for a pat on the head,
Or a friendly tickle and rub

And Rags got home with the regiment,
And then, in the breaking away-
Well, whether they stole him, or whether he went,
I am not prepared to say.

But we mustered out, some to beer and gruel
And some to sherry and shad,
And I went back to the Sawbones School,
Where I still was an undergrad.

One day they took us budding M. D.s
To one of those institutes
Where they demonstrate every new disease
By means of bisected brutes.

They had one animal tacked and tied
And slit like a full-dressed fish,
With his vitals pumping away inside
As pleasant as one might wish.

I stopped to look like the rest, of course,
And the beast's eyes leveled mine;
His short tail thumped with a feeble force,
And he uttered a tender whine.

It was Rags, yes, Rags! who was martyred there,
Who was quartered and crucified,
And he whined that whine which is doggish prayer
And he licked my hand and died.

And I was no better in part nor whole
Than the gang I was found among,
And his innocent blood was on the soul
Which he blessed with his dying tongue.

Well I've seen men go to courageous death
In the air, on sea, on land!
But only a dog would spend his breath
In a kiss for his murderer's hand.

And if there's no heaven for love like that,
For such four-legged fealty-well
If I have any choice, I tell you flat,
I'll take my chance in hell.

Do Pure-Breed Dogs End Up in Shelters? Hmmmmm....

Pedigree, Canine and Human

Mark Derr is the author of “A Dog’s History of America: How Our Best Friend Explored, Conquered and Settled a Continent” and “Dog’s Best Friend: Annals of the Dog-Human Relationship.”
The Westminster Kennel Club Show was interrupted last night by two members of People for the Ethical Treatments of Animals declaiming against purebred dogs in favor of mutts. Theirs is the continuation of long battle.

Rising middle classes in the developing world want “Western” breeds, just as Thorstein Veblen could have predicted.

The development of scientific breeding and “modern breeds” in the late 18th century has transformed the genetic landscape of European and American dogs, creating animals specialized in terms of form and function. Initially an extravagance for the wealthy — Thorstein Veblen had pampered purebred companion dogs in mind when he coined the phrase “objects of conspicuous consumption” — the purebred dog became a mass-produced commodity in the decades following World War II.
By my rough calculations, purebred dogs in general are as numerous, or nearly so, as mutts, or “mixed breeds” among our 77 million dogs.

Associated Press/Westminster Kennel Club A Pyrenean shepherd with a rough coat.

Reports from around the world indicate that when the emerging middle class in developing countries want a dog, they most frequently buy a “Western” breed, while ignoring local street dogs — some of them ancient types — because they want the pedigree. Each year, the American Kennel Club adds new breeds from among the 400 or so in the world today, like the little Pyrenean shepherd dog that made its debut at the Westminster Kennel Club show this year.
This need to find “unspoiled” or rare breeds is tied not only to a desire for the next “hot” dog but also recognition that purebred dogs for all their beauty or uniqueness often have multiple genetic problems that are as much a result of the way they are bred as are their appearance and talents. People aware of these problems may turn to mutts or deliberate crosses between popular breeds — Labradoodles or cockerpoos, for example — in the search for hybrid vigor.
Or they make it a point of saying they obtained their dogs from reputable breeders, not from pet stores or puppy mills, which are major sources of dogs with problems.
PETA and other groups and individuals find virtue in taking an abandoned dog from the shelter. But with purebred dogs accounting for 25 percent of those in shelters and countless more with dedicated breed rescue groups, virtue would appear to lie in giving a dog a home.

Art Contest for Youngsters

Voices for Hope Animal Rescue is a non-profit organization recently formed to help bring awareness to our community about the importance of spaying/neutering our pets, help with the adoption of homeless animals, and rescue and report animal abuse. We are currently holding an art contest for children. The contest will be divided into three groups, grades K-3, 4-6, and 7-9. There will be a winner for each age group, whose art will appear on our fundraiser T-shirts. Entrants may drop artwork off at the Winston County Library or Just Teasin' Boutik. We want colorful pictures of your family pet. If you don’t have a pet, draw a picture of any dog or cat. Get creative! The deadline is March 31. For more information, you may call Katrina @ 803-4400. We also need volunteers. Please come and join us in our efforts to make our community more animal-friendly!

Wally Rose (for the kiddies)

Wally Rose

A little puppy followed me home from school one day;

He acted like he knew me, and wanted me to play.

Black and white– a shaggy coat and button of a nose;

A playful little mutt was he; I named him Wally Rose.

Very soon he fit right in; my family quickly chose

To make a member out of him– the tiny Wally Rose.

He loved to chew on everything from tennis shoes to hose;

Daddy let him fetch his slippers– guess what he did to those!

He chewed them up till they were frayed and ripped around the toes;

Daddy sternly scolded him; I’m glad my mother sews!

He’d chase the ball and bring it back, and wag his stubby tail;

Till someone threw the ball again, his persistence would not fail.

He loved to play with Bows, the cat, who just could not perceive

Why he played so rough like that– she wished that he would leave.

But as time passed, she realized he didn’t mean her harm;

She soon became a friend to him, and with him shared our farm.

He liked to follow Bossie as she grazed around the dell;

He’d bark and fuss, and try to catch her long fly-swatter tail.

“Go and play with someone else– with Franklin or with Bows;

And stop all that annoying me, you naughty Wally Rose!”

Now Franklin didn’t mind one bit when Wally came around,

“Cause he’d wallow in the mud with him– a “piggy of a hound”.

He’d romp and roll, then shake the mud right off his shaggy coat;

He’d say “Good-bye”, and off he’d go to pester Bill, the goat.

Bill would try to hide behind a haystack when he’d see

That pesky nuisance, Wally Rose, approaching friskily.

But Wally Rose would search for Bill until he sniffed him out;

Then crouch and bark and chase the goat until he wore him out.

And then, old Bill would take a rest, and as he’d start to doze,

Nestled close beside him there was a sleepy Wally Rose.

Wally grew and grew each day beneath the country skies;

A puny mutt he was no more, but mature and somewhat wise.

Nowadays, he’s quite a hand to have around the farm;

He brings the chickens in to roost and Bossie to the barn.

He stands tall, a handsome brute– a somewhat pleasing hound,

That’s loyal to his life-long friends, and good to have around.

Now Bill and Bossie, Franklin, and I and even Bows

Can’t imagine life before I brought home Wally Rose!

Katrina Estes Hill

Cotton's Silent World (for the kiddies)

It’s stormy in our neighborhood;

The rain is beating down;

The feline on the windowsill

Doesn’t hear a sound.

He sees the lightening in the sky;

He feels the thunder near;

But his silence isn’t broken,

You see, Cotton cannot hear.

He cannot here the many sounds

We hear from day to day. 

He doesn’t hear the laughter

When the children are at play.

He doesn’t hear the music

That Mom plays as she cooks;

Just sits upon his favorite spot

And out the window looks.

He watches as a butterfly

Upon a flower lands,

And flies away in freedom

Right into Nature’s hands.

He yearns to go outside;

He’d be there if he could,

To chase the butterfly

And run the neighborhood.

He’d climb to meet upon the oak

The frisky little squirrel

That he’d just love to bring into

His silent, playful world.

The cat who lives next door,

Whose name is Bubba Mo,

Jumps upon the windowsill

As if to say “hello”.

He strokes his body to and fro

Across the window pane;

A soft “meow” and noses touch;

His visits aren’t in vain.

Bubba loves his silent friend,

That blue-eyed cotton ball;

He knows it makes him happy

When Bubba pays a call.

A wall of total of silence

Can’t keep these friends apart,

Good friends can communicate

Directly from the heart.

When Cotton’s called to slumber,

His dreams take him away

To the world of hearing sounds

He misses everyday.

He hears the crickets chirping,

And the scurry of a mouse,

The laughter of the children

As they play around the house.

He hears Mom humming melodies

As she cooks his favorite fish,

And hears his own contented purr

As she puts some in his dish.

He hears the Whippoorwill,

The hoots of Mr. Owl,

Bubba Mo’s “hello” meow,

And Sparky’s bark and growl.

His ears twitch as he sleeps;

Upon my lap he’s curled;

I’m glad that I’m a part

Of Cotton’s silent world!

Katrina Estes Hill

Bunker Drives Us Bonkers! (for the kiddies)

Bunker always drives us bonkers

When he barks like that all day;

He simply has to understand

We just don’t have time to play!

When we first brought him home with us,

We just couldn’t get enough

Of that sweet playful ball of fur;

It’s such fun to get new stuff!

The neighborhood kids came over

To play with our brand new pet;

They’d bring him toys and puppy treats;

He would kiss their faces wet!

We taught him how to fetch and roll;

The kids said we were lucky

To get to bring home such a sweet

Adorable little puppy.

He’d walk us to the bus each day;

And it soon became routine;

He’d watch it as it rolled away

And no longer could be seen.

Patiently he would wait all day

Until that yellow engine

That took his kids away from him

Would return us home again.

We rushed to put our books inside,

As he frolicked at our feet;

And when we’d come back out to play,

It would make his day complete.

We’d wrestle in the grass with him,

Resisting doggy kisses;

He had to let his playmates know

Their company he misses.

The sun would set and Mom would call;

Once more we’d have to leave him;

We’d say “Goodnight”, and hug him tight

We’d pat his head, then feed him.

Dinner eaten, our homework done;

Our night would come to a close;

We’d know that Bunker was at watch

And would be there when we rose.

Now, we’re bigger and he is, too;

My brother, my friends and I

Have other things we like to do,

So we leave ol’ Bunker tied.

He's barking as we leave the yard

To visit the neighbor’s boys;

It’s hard for us to understand

Why he’s making all that noise.

Could it be because he misses

All the time we shared before

With our beloved and loyal friend

Whom we seem to now ignore?

Yes, our Bunker drives us bonkers,

Which would surely not be true

If only we would play with him

Like we did when he was new.

From this day on, we’ll give the time

And attention he deserves;

And he’ll not bark and rant and rave,

And upset our family’s nerves.

We’ll take him with us in the car;

For he always loves to ride!

We’ll walk him, chase him, play with him,

And we’ll let him come inside.

Now, when Bunker drives us bonkers,

He’s not trying to complain;

But, to let us know he’s happy

That we’re playmates once again.

Katrina Estes Hill