Too Hot To Trot, Part Two

Okay, so here it goes: you stand around in the unrelenting heat, waiting to have someone look you over as if they know you, know how you should be, and know how you are not. And they've never even met you!
Then they proceed to open your mouth, grab your chest, check to see your . . . you know, grab your tail, then stare you down again and ask you to gleefully run beneath the sweltering sky. This is called a "Dog Show".

Someone else put it very well, albeit under different circumstances:

"Summer" A Poem
(Unknown)

"Oh! Summer's Day!
A day so hot that the fleas on my stomach
are sweating.
...(Excuse me one second.)
SQUIRRELS!
DIE! GET OUT OF HERE!
I HATE YOU! I'M SERIOUS!!!!!!!
...(Please forgive me. Where was I?)
Alone. Adrift in this bleak living hell.
An olive-sized tick on the back of my...
...(Uh Oh. Excuse me.)
SCUM! GET OUT OF HERE!
I'M NOT KIDDING!
COME INTO THIS YARD AND YOU'RE DEAD!!!!!!!
(Pardon me again. I'm sorry)
My empty dish mocks me.
Will the folks with the food never come home?
Flies buzz in my brain now. My mouth full of gravel.
I search for...
ah...the hell with it."


Okay, I'm done whining for now. For in the end, Andrew and I were able to be ourselves, laying around as my best friend cooled me off with licks of love.

(Grandma Charlotte -- please get well. I can't live without you.)


Satchie.