Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Emily's last poem for poetry month

I am again abusing honoring my namesake, Emily Dickinson. I found her poem about a thing with feathers of particular interest.

Chickens are things with feathers

that run around the pen

and squawk a noise without a tune

never making sense


and sweetest is the day when I

catch one all unaware.

I’ll grab her leg and run away

to stash her in my lair.


I know most chickens don't like dogs

but I can be her friend

if only she’ll excuse the teeth

that make her feathers shred.
I don't care what it is as long as I can shred it.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Emily Dickins' Dashin' Fashion

Folks, I've decided that the plastered-ear look is the absolute bee's knees when it comes to spring 'dos for 'dales. Here I am modeling the basic nude look.

A girl, however, wants to accessorize. Here's the Easter bonnet look, guaranteed to get you a lot of treats, especially if you master the look of "pathetic, hopeful, and slightly tortured."

If a treat is tossed to you, it's like wearing a catcher's mitt. You can't miss.

And, no worries, you can sleep comfortably.

Scarves are in season this year; Mom wears them all the time and I've enjoyed chewing on the fringes more than once. Being an active girl and not wanting to trip over trailing ends, I've adapted the look for dogs.

Sadly, this model comes only in denim blue. Rose or bright purple would be so much more appropriate for spring.

You can perform all your usual bitey-face activities--

--and sleep very comfortably indeed, as the inflatable scarf (which Mom keeps calling a donut, though everybody knows donuts are for eating) acts as a portable pillow. 

Incredible as it may seem, Miro sometimes grows tired of my behavior.

No fashion shoot is complete without the noble profile.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Suffering for beauty

 Emily Dickins here. Sheila the groomer came to my house! I was so happy to see her that I bounced all over the place! Never mind that I didn't know who she was and had never met her before. With Mom's conniving assistance, this is what she did to me. Don't I look pathetically sad?
This is my Angry Puppy look. Do you think I should take to acting instead of poetry?
Mom says I look goofy in this one, but I believe I am projecting an image of an animal bravely overcoming adversity and looking forward to the future or a liver treat, whichever comes first.
Stand by for the next post in which I'll model the latest fashions in puppy-torture.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Taxi Driver

You lookin' at me?

Monday, April 7, 2014

The extinction of the dinosaurs

A Natural History Lesson
by Emily Dickins and Miro

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Emily's second tribute to National Poetry Month

“Hope" is the thing with feathers—
by Emily Dickins
Chickens are things with feathers
that perch inside the pen
and ruffle so enticingly—
I cannot get at them
And sweetest are the eggs they lay--
if Mom gives them to me
I can be happy all the day
and hope for more or plead--
If only I were free to try--
I’d love to catch a hen--
I’d pace for hours around the pen
with hope of getting in.

You can find the original poem here.