Everything old is new again

I'm going to use this blog to post some stuff that's starting to junk up my other blog. Stay tuned for further developments....

Ode to Writer's Block

Blank sheet of paper
Unwritten words left unsaid
Ink not spilt
Emotion reflected not upon
Frustration wells inside
Hoping for that one drop of inspiration
On my parched mind
The tumbleweeds of memory
Roll round and round and round and round and round
Every life's action food for thought
My bulimic brain empty
No love, no death, no rainbow psychedelic nightmare dream, no politics, no intellegencia
Just self and pen
Contemplating staring lines of blue on white
Reminding me...
of
NOTHING

3:00 A.M.

Waking from the deep last night
Ocean rising sound around
Momentarily I fight
Tides and eddies--dreams abound
Water turned to swish and roars
Street sweeper is going by
Second of clear thought passed then soars
Off like flying fish to skies
Blinding white, they gasp for air
Out of element, confused
Unnatural and peculiar
Clock blinks at my face bemused
"Three o'clock" in lights of red
Can't be real to be awake
Bed like some dry riverbed
On which fear my body shakes
Window brings the rush again
Flip-flop disquiet fills my soul
Waves' crash near my head begin
Brush on concrete sounds the call
Flailing in desperation
Arm then drops, I lose control
Plunge headfirst, the conflagration
Over, dreams flood 'round my soul
Stillness, quiet, dark abyss
Slowly I begin to see
Flying, rather, swimming, bliss
Surrounds the mermaid me

I AIN'T NO BARBIE DOLL

Perfect plastic people
Leading perfect plastic lives
Who are they really?
Do they have invisible insides?

I can't imagine being them
I know I never could
I never was too malleable
Don't do the things I should

Or is "should" a possibility--
A tangible kind of thing?
It's probably better not to know
It carries quite a sting

But what if you would want me then
Maybe then it'd be worth it
If I could be artificial
Less complex and more complicit

Byron Imitation

I
Tonight begins my epic poem adventure
Unsure am I of my own subject matter,
Yet persevere, I will and shall endeavor,
To render here a tale in rhyming patter.
So without salute or formal overture,
I offer you my work on silver platter
(An article I've dropped, and no mistake,
But you'll forgive me for the meter's sake.).

II
Quite a good start, I think, don't you agree?
If not, in your opinion, never fear,
For this my maiden poem, you'll soon see,
Will flower like a rose once I've your ear.
Your full attention's what means most to me,
For that's the thing which makes or breaks career.
'Tis my career of which I speak, you know.
Your own is quite a mystery. --Enow.

III
"And what shall be the scope of this?" you ask.
"I'm not quite sure myself, indeed," I say,
"But surely if I put my mind to task
I'll invent something soon (I hope I may!)."
Meantime's, I'll take a sip from out my flask.
Medicinal it is, at least by day.
At night, it has a different purpose to it.
But when I work, I swear that I eschew it.

IV
I'll follow in the great footsteps of Byron.
Of course, my feet aren't lame as once his were--
Or are--for I suppose his are still lyin'
In the casket and in tomb inter
("Interred," I know, is proper, but inspirin'
Good rhymes has precedence--verb tense defer.).
I'm sorry if I seem too addle-pated.
It comes from reading poems antiquated.

V
I know! I'll chose myself for the hero
For no one's mind is more familiar to me,
And if it's strange to you, don't cause a row.
The female oft the subject used to be
Of poems by men, but here I hope to show
That epics are a possibility.
Never before have women played the lead.
Oh God! I pray that here I may succeed!

VI
No precedent is set for such a plan,
But still I have the confidence of Dante
That epic hero need not be a man
Like Alfred Prufrock--T.S. Elliot's front, eh?
And thinly hid was Byron as Don Juan.
Why, Dante chose himself, thus may not I?
Of course, he went to hell and back again
To Beatrice who was without a stain.

VII
No Beatrice am I. Of that I'm certain,
Nor comparable to innocent Haidee
Yet neither like the old Greek temptress Helen,
And Grendel's mother's a far cry from me.
Dissimilar to Eve in God's own garden.
Poor Dido's lost her heart, but not so D.
If there are any more whom I've forgot,
I am not like those others. Not a jot.

VIII
What am I like? I'm sure you wish to know
After that litany of names from yore.
Sit down, I pray, and with my words I'll show
A woman unlike those who've gone before.
No masculine-shaped Michelangelo,
No Botticelli's Venus on the shore,
But something in-between, I hope you'll find,
Possessing both a body and a mind.

IX
I'm fond of men who're blessed with calves of steel
(To clarify, I speak of legs not cows.),
And who are loaded down with sex appeal.
Of course, their sculls insides a brain must house.
I wish their feelings men did not conceal.
And I despise a man who must carouse.
Too vain, too pompous, too repressed
Are not my cups of tea, as I've expressed.

X
Adonis, sure, I don't require he be,
But handsome, yes, and quite intelligent,
And less inclined "he" than unto "me".
Is this too much for me to ask a gent?
Perhaps I'll let it go and be carefree.
What need have I for love that's heaven sent?
His scent--ah that's what brings me back again.
My better judgment bows unto this rein.

Sometimes Wish....

I wonder if I'll always be alone
Or if I could be with you forever.
Sometimes wish I could call you on the phone
And tell you the truth, but it's always blown.
Instead, I try to be far too clever.
I wonder if I'll always be alone.
Woke after dreaming the real me was shown
To you--you said, "Keep it under cover."
Sometimes wish I could call you on the phone
To ask you if you feel like life has flown
Away from you, or if you say (ever),
"I wonder if I'll always be alone."
Is it only me who seems to have grown
Disconcerted with the simple answer?
Sometimes wish I could call you on the phone,
But would you tell me that I ought to own
Up to the facts--true love may be never?
I wonder if I'll always be alone.
Sometimes wish I could call you on the phone.

LOVE'S TRUE PHILOSOPHY

Vine and vine and leaf and leaf
Bind together each to each
Holding you and holding me
Breezes blowing tree and tree
Shivers from both sight and sound
Bodies clasping on the ground
Sighs together of devotion
Life is filled with sweet emotion
What is sin and in whose eyes
Does Nature teach these little lies
Eye to eye and mind to mind
I think the liar's humankind

Planting Time

Sweat glistens on your leathered brow
Old man astride a gargantua of rumbling rust
Dark brown earth falls in neat curls
Frothing at the end of the steel blade
"Has to hurt if it's to heal" you said
Old wounds open wide are cleansed
Leaving behind traces of what is to come
Now, old man, the green you hoped for
Is just beginning to surface in me
You let me steer the tractor one day
I left scratches haphazard, ugly
But with one pass you wiped them away
What if I need you next time I try
And find myself alone, no strong hand to guide mine?
Yet you knew that day would come
I open the creaking door of the dark barn
The metal monster gleaming viciously
It's planting time again, grandpa
I turn the key and realize my power
And my fear of creating something on my own
Then your voice comes crackling to me
I feel your thin, brown arms around mine
We'll do it together after all, old man
No, you didn't leave me alone after all

THE HOLLOW MEN REVISITED

When you strip it down
Strip it all down
Down to what's essential
What are we really

After all the wars and governments
The religious rites and services
After all the hype and propaganda
Ticker-tape parades

Do we even know
Know what it's for
Does it mean anything
Anything at all

Beneath the painted eyes and lips and cheeks
Behind the skin and sinew
Under the blood and finger-nails
Bones hide the emptiness

We are hollow at the core
Marrow and gray mass are all that make us more
More than hollow reeds dancing at the whim
Whim of the restless wind

And so we strut and fret
But what's the fretting for
To hide
To hide the truth

Deep down
Deep down in our bones
The bones know it's a sham
We all know the truth

Know that all we are
All we really are
Is the stuff that fills the space
Fills the void inside

Stuffs the cracks
Keeps the wind at bay
So briefly, Ever so briefly
And then, No more

Did I scare you?
Didn't mean to scare you
I'll tell you a secret--
It scares me too

PARTHENON

Serenely gazing at two thousand years
Clouds breeze past in a whirl
Proportional and majestic yet disarrayed
I stand for perfection and eternity

Day and night are nothing to me
Man's life but a brief-lit candle
Sun beams down season after season
The gods remain within my precincts

No more the worshipful songs raise
Still pilgrims come in steady stream
Firefly's flicker in time
Whilst I am steadfast like the celestial spheres

Bright city sprawls below to reach the sea
One day its light too will be gone
I remain with the divine spirits
Looking on unmoved

Mea Culpa

And did you plan on me today
Or was I just an afterthought
I can't tell lie from truth because
Your smirk still looks the same

I'm sorry to have spoilt it all
Sorry to have seen right through
I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry
Yeah right--mea culpa

Well, I can mock you like this, and
I can mock you like that too--and
Do you practice in the mirror
Until you get the look just right

I'm sorry to have spoilt it all
Sorry to have seen right through
I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry
Yeah right--mea culpa

The only thing in all of this
Strategic game of mind-fuck
Is why do I let you, let you,
Let you near me in the first place

I'm sorry to have spoilt it all
Sorry to have seen right through
I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry
Yeah right--mea culpa

Bad Kharma

Hoped for lightening to strike
But it only rained that day--
Not in the cards,
Not in the stars,
Never mind the planets of Venus or Mars.

Would changing choices alter aught,
Or were missed chances preordained?
What's to say?
What's to blame?
The end result's the very same.

So fare thee well, my lover/friend.
The nether-fate we'll never know--
Out of step,
Out of time.
Whose bad karma, yours or mine?

ENIGMATIC

Should I cry or smile today?
Both seem quite appropriate
I don't really know
I can never tell

You ask me what's the matter
Ask me what's wrong
I don't really know
I can never tell

I want to run away today
I want to write a book or play
I want my cake and eat it too
I want to sing and dance with you
I want to play all day, all day
I want to play all day

Maybe I'll sleep all day long
Then stay up late at night
I don't really know
I can never tell

You'd better expect the unexpected
What is it that is expected
I don't really know
I can never tell

I want to run away today
I want to write a book or play
I want my cake and eat it too
I want to sing and dance with you
I want to play all day, all day
I want to play all day

So tell me, is that crazy?
Tell me, am I nuts?
I don't really know
I can never tell

Startime sweetness

Like a thousand luscious languid lusts
A symphony of spring storm shadows
Sleep and dream some of sweet singing
Soar staring visions still in shadow
Delirious from the shaking void

RAINY NIGHT IN GOMORRA

Dark sky red with light from burning street-lamps
Like an alien-scape in a sci-fi magazine
Looking out the window it seems so strange
Stars don't exist in the encapsulated city

Rain starts to fall like crocodile tears
Used to be angels but I think it was a lie
Streets slick wet like shiny black glass
Can't see the lines, or were they really there before

Could be out there with all the other lost souls
Running ragged in this trickledown world
I pull my midnight comforter higher
And I'm placid as an astronaut in spacewalk...alone

Short & Sweet

Ticking off the daily wrongs,
In language both of how and why,
I scream a thousand sordid songs
And whisper, "Mother, may I?"

Shelley Imitation

Gently sways the rocking boat
Which floats on glistening waves of green.
Fluid visions of the world are rendered
As from a myriad of imperfect mirrors.
Sails and breeze play childish games,
On-again, off-again, making
The cloth first taut, then slack, then rippling.
Sunlight smiles down upon the floaters
In rapid race towards nowhere.
No single cloud to mar the perfect
Blue of sky. Radiant face
Reflects the light and all is peaceful,
Warm, and singularly strange:
A day to real to be believed.

TRAFFIC JAM

Green or red is clear to me
I know just what to do
But I can't read your signals
They're yellow all day through

Which way to the off-ramp?
I'm lookin' for a sign
Which way to the off-ramp?
I hope you're doin' fine

Your stop and go
Is killing me
If I can't have you
Then set me free

Stay or go--I just don't see
Which way I need to look
I wish that you'd explain it all
In a user's manual book

I'd keep it in my glove box
Consult it when confused
Thereby avoiding accidents
With every page perused

Your stop and go
Is killing me
If I can't have you
Then set me free

THE ICE KING

I wrap myself inside my skin
Trying to find the warmth
Roll up like a pill bug poked
Deep-down shiver in my bone-joints

Breath-steam curls about my face
Where it settles I'm even colder
Look across your pillowed head
Bite my cheek and turn away

Asleep I pull your lips to mine
Suck the marrow-heat from you
But, come the gray dawn haze, I find
My finger-tips are white, the nail-base blue

All Hail! The Ice King cometh! Put on
Your face and cheer him if you can
Though frost-bite threatens every limb
And leaf-bare twigs will break, not bend

And I will build a little ice cage
Keep you safe and keep you in
Place a sign before the door
Which bears the words, "Beware the beast"

You'd like it if I'd worship you
You'd like a throne and crown of gold
But all I get is frost from you
And all I'll render in return

All Hail! The Ice King cometh! Put on
Your face and cheer him if you can
Though frostbite threatens every limb
And leaf-bare twigs will break, not bend

I need a thaw to break this cold-snap
To start a fire in my soul
Blaze and burn from inside-out
For you are not, no, not enough

Do We Dance the Tarantella?

Flick the fan and click the heels,
Turn, spin, glide, wheel,
Eyes smoulder, lips part
Grace, wit, charm, art
Do you hear the music too?

"I Ain’t Dyin’ Here"

This is a short story I wrote a year or so ago.

Rippled waves of heat danced in silver shimmers across the asphalt surface of the street. Barefoot, Bridget slammed shut her wooden front gate and tiptoed rapidly over the hell-hot river of tar.

Peering through the dark green slats of the front parlor shutters, Sophie watched her progress. Looks like a running chicken, she thought. She waited until Bridget was on the front porch before going to the door, and then swung it open. "Hey," she said, as cheery as she could manage. "Come on in here, girl."

Bridget entered the house, and the latch quickly snapped shut once more.

Sophie walked through the dining room and into the kitchen with Bridget close behind. Turning to the cabinet over the sink, she reached in and pulled out a jelly glass, then placed her finger on top of a second, tipping it towards her, but not yet bringing it down. "Want somethin' to drink?" she asked. "I got lemonade, Coke, orange juice, and iced tea. I just made the lemonade, so it’s real fresh."

"No thanks," replied Bridget. "You go on ahead and get some for yourself, though. I just got done with lunch."

The cabinet door squeaked shut. "Okay," Sophie said. "Lemme know if you change your mind"

She opened the refrigerator and brought out a Tupperware pitcher of lemonade. As Sophie poured herself some, sweat collected on the surface of the glass, and the ice crackled and popped inside. She filled the glass to the rim, and then replaced the pitcher once more. The refrigerator kicked on, whirring and whining in protest of the weather.

"Have a seat," Sophie offered, gesturing toward the chairs at the kitchen table. The two women sat, and Sophie took a long drink before going on. "So, what’s goin’ on, lady?"

"Oh, not much. Just laundry. Ain’t it hot out today? I's 'fraid the clothes would bake on the line. Hard to b'lieve it’s still only May."

"I know it! I’ve been runnin’ the cooler all day. Usually, I don’t like cutting it on this early in the summer, you know, 'cause it ain’t good for folks to go indoors and then out and then back in again. Makes you feel kinda poorly. Today was just more'n I could stand, though.”

“You’re lucky," Bridget said. "We only got that window unit, and I have to keep the bedroom door shut so the air stays in there. Otherwise, he can’t sleep."

Though "he" wasn’t named, Sophie knew just who Bridget meant. A.J. had his way set in his mind about things, and nobody and nothing better disagree.

"Why don’t y’all get another one for the front room? That way you’d have one for company."

Bridget shrugged. "He thinks we can’t afford it. I’ve tried telling him we could get a used one from the Salvation Army, but he won’t have it for other people to think that he doesn’t make enough money. He’d rather go without than have one that wasn’t brand new."

Sophie had her own opinions when it came to A.J., but she knew that voicing them did no good. Bridget wouldn’t argue with him if she could help it. There was no point in doing it. He always got his way.

"So how're you keeping cool?" Sophie asked.

"I put a fan in the kitchen window and another in the dining room. The cross breeze is better'n nothing," Bridget laughed softly. "Long's I don’t allow myself to set too long, I ain’t got time to sweat."

Sophie smiled. Her momma had always said it was rude to let people see your pity for them.

They talked on for twenty or thirty minutes about nothing important--gossip about neighbors and updates on distant family members. The kinds of things people talk about when they don't really want to talk about what really matters. It as though she and Bridget were talking, pretending everything was ordinary and fine, when sitting smack dab between them in the room was the problem of A.J., looming like an enormous blue elephant that they steadfastly refused to acknowledge out loud to one another, but which they both knew was there, sitting in plain view.

Bridget looked at the clock, wiped her palms on her knees, and then got up from her seat. "I got to be gettin' back."

Sophie knew Bridget was worried about A.J. coming home, thinking she'd been slacking off all day. She needed to get all her work done and dinner made before he got there so he wouldn't have anything to yell about. "I understand," she said. "Don't you work too hard now."

"Oh don't you worry about me," Bridget smiled.

Sophie smiled again. "See you later, girl."

"Bye," Bridget said as she shut the front door behind her. The screen door slammed a second later, followed by the gate.

"She's running," thought Sophie, shaking her head. "Running to get back to that place that's sucking the life out of her. I'm so glad I don't have me a man like that."

Rains blew though that night, leaving behind blue skies and air that was unseasonably cool and comfortable. That afternoon, Sophie ventured outside her house and into the backyard, carrying a glass of iced tea. It was porch-sleeping weather, and she was taking full advantage of it. Afternoons like that come about only four to five times a year. "To hell with chores," she thought. "The bathroom can stay dirty one more day, and the laundry can wait until I'm good and ready to do it."

The cicadas thrumming in the pecan trees overhead was hypnotically soothing, lulling Sophie to sleep. She drowsed, hidden by the trees which encircled the patio on which she sat, slumped in her folding metal lawn chair, feet propped up on the seat of another chair she'd pulled to face her.

She didn't hear the car pull up across the street. The raised voices from the argument in the little white house never reached her ears. Sophie was still half-napping when she heard the bang. For a second, the cicadas stopped , then their noise began again, seeming louder than ever in contrast to the sudden silence in the rest of the neighborhood. She sat up and put her feet on the ground. At first, she wasn't sure of what she'd heard. "Maybe it was a car backfiring or someone banging an old screen door. Maybe I just dreamed it." But Sophie knew that wasn't so. She could feel her pulse in her ears, and she froze for a moment, not sure of what to do. "Call the police? Or should I go over there?"

She got up and went through the back door and walked on to the front window. Sophie hated to look, but she felt drawn to do it. She opened the blinds a crack and peered out. "A.J.'s dirt brown Pinto, all right. What's he doing home? What's he want? What's he done to her?"

And there it was. The elephant she'd been denying for so long, forcing her to recognize its presence at last. He beats Bridget. All the time. Sophie'd known it for as long as she'd been living there, but she'd never let herself think about it until then.

"I gotta do something," she thought to herself. "Bridget's hurt. Maybe killed. I gotta do something."

But she couldn't call the police. She just couldn't. People would ask her later why she hadn't, and she couldn't explain. She just couldn't do it.

She closed the blind again. "Gotta get something. Something to protect myself."

But she didn't have a gun and A.J. would like as not take a knife away from her if she tried to use it on him. Desperate, she grabbed a can of bug spray. "I can spray him in the eyes if he comes near me. It'll slow him down, at least."

When she opened the door, the thrumming sound seemed louder than ever, a deafening roar now, drowning out the sound of fear pounding in her head and chest. Sophie felt like she was in a dream, walking down her front steps, out to the street, crossing to the other side, and reaching for the gate. She opened the latch, but did not let it shut behind her. "I've got to be quiet now. Very quiet."

Up close, she could see that the white paint was peeling off the house, like everything that was clean and good was tired of hiding the evil inside. From her side of the street, the decay hadn't been so obvious, but as she reached the stoop, she could smell the rottenness of the wood. "I should have seen it before now. I should have seen this coming."

The front door stood open just a crack. Slowly she crept up, trying not to make a sound. "This is crazy," she thought. "He'll kill me." She hesitated, listening, but no sounds came from inside the house.

Finally, her worry over Bridget's welfare overcame her fear. "She might be dying in there," she thought. "I've got to do something. Help her."

"HEY!" she shouted. "Y'all in there?"

No reply.

"HEY!"

The cicadas continued their humming, but no other sounds could be heard.

"I'm comin' in!" she hollered, trying to make her voice sound steady as she pushed open the door, finger on the trigger of the Raid can.

It was dark in the front room. No lights were on and the blinds were closed. She could see a light coming from the kitchen at the rear of the house. It was like moving through liquid concrete to keep moving forward, but she made herself do it anyway. "Bridget! Are you all right in there?"

No answer. She kept walking, and with each step, the old floorboards creaked. "HEY! Answer me!"

Sophie crept down the hallway. The bedroom doors were closed. She swallowed down the bile in her throat and kept going towards the kitchen light. "Where are you all?" she screamed, stepping through the doorway.

There, in the kitchen, she saw them and she understood the silence. A.J. was dead. Very dead. His brains were all over the side of the refrigerator, and he was lying on the linoleum in a pool of blood. Bridget was standing with her back to the sink, blood splattered all over her clothes and drenching her pink fuzzy slippers. A gun lay at her feet. Bridget's eyes were swollen nearly shut with bruises, and more marks covered her wrists and neck. Broken plates and glass, remnants of a half-cooked lunch, and overturned chairs clearly told the story of the events leading up to this moment. Yet, Sophie had to ask anyway. Softly she said, "Bridget, honey, what happened?"

Bridget didn't move, but silent tears began to flow down her cheeks.

Again, Sophie asked, "Bridget?"

"I ain't dyin' here," she said suddenly, moving at last, gripping the counter behind her and raising herself to stand straighter.

"Honey, we got to get an ambulance. We got to get some help."

Bridget shook her head. "Don't call an ambulance. Call a hearse. That son-of-a-bitch ain't gettin' up."

"Come out of there, honey," Sophie said softly. "Come here to me and I'll get you some help. You need some help. Come on."

But Bridget wouldn't move. She just kept standing there, proud and tall, face wet and shiny, shaking her head and saying "I ain't dyin' here. He couldn't make me."

Sophie called the police from the phone in the bedroom. She wanted to go in and get Bridget out of there, take her outside, but she just couldn't make herself cross that lake of blood that separated the two of them. And Bridget wouldn't move. So she did what she could. She stood in the doorway and talked to her calmly.

"They're coming, honey. Everything's gonna be okay. Don't you worry. It's gonna be okay."

The police found them there fifteen minutes later, still standing in the kitchen refusing to move or to look at the body on the floor. Sophie gave her statement. Bridget just kept saying the same thing, even as they put the handcuffs on her and tucked her into the squad car. "I ain't dyin' here. He couldn't make me."

Everyone knew why Bridget had done it, though no one had ever discussed it before until the police had driven away. And they wondered how Sophie had gotten up the courage to go in that house. They asked her about it over and over--in the grocery store checkout line, at the Chinese buffet, at the church rummage sale--but even years later she never could answer them properly.

The Story of Luna

Once upon a long hot summer, there was a sweet little mutt named Luna. Luna was a little fluffy puppy. Some people came and bought her at a yard sale for $5 and gave her to some children when she was about 3 months old. They told her that she was very cute and petted her a lot for about a week.

But just as they tired of their toys and left them strewn across the yard forgotten, the children soon grew tired of Luna as well and tied her up in a small pen in the back yard with a barrel turned on its side for a house and left her there. They stopped petting her, and when the leaves started falling from the trees, the kids went back to school and left her alone all day without even anything to watch. Sometimes they forgot to feed her too. Sometimes, she didn't have any water in her bowl unless it rained. But she still loved them and hoped they'd come over to play with her every time they went outside. And everytime they went outside, they ignored her and left her there alone as it grew colder and colder. She spent more and more time in her barrel, hiding from the snow, trying to stay warm.

Then one day, the people started packing things in boxes and putting them in a big moving truck. They took everything away, including the toys from the yard and the Christmas lights from the front porch. But little Luna, who was not so little anymore, they left behind in the pen alone.

For three days and nights, she stayed alone in the pen in the cold, wondering when they'd come back. She had no food. She had no water. She had no shelter except for her barrel. She was all alone.

Finally, she became very frightened and hungry, so she wiggled and squirmed her way out of the collar they'd put on her and then dug her way out of the pen in search of food and water. She ate some bugs and found some old rotten corn in a field nearby that she ate too. It gave her a tummyache, but she was so hungry, she ate it anyway.

That evening, a man saw her in that field all alone, and she went to him, hoping he would be nice to her. He reached down to pet her and could feel all of her bones. She was fragile like a baby bird and so very tired. But her tail wagged happily as he stroked her fur, and he gave her some water at his back door. The man had four dogs of his own in a large yard who looked very friendly, but the man knew he could not keep little Luna for his own. He worried and fretted. And then he called a friend for advice.

That friend came right over to the house. Luna came up and licked the woman's hand, and the woman almost cried. Luna had been treated so badly and yet was still so sweet and loving. So the woman gently lifted Luna into her car and drove her home to live with her other two dogs.

Luna was so happy! She had someone to feed her and pet her and talk to her and she had friends to play with and a big yard for running in. Sometimes she got in trouble because she didn't know the rules since she'd never been around people or learned their ways. She also had to be taught how to play with toys because she'd never had any before. She had to learn that there would be food every day, so she didn't have to hide the food bowl or growl at the other dogs to stay away anymore. But Luna was smart and wanted to make the woman happy. She tried very hard to do what she was told, and she got along well with the other dogs. And after that, though they never found the first family to make them understand that what they'd done was wrong, she recovered well and lived happily ever after with her new family. The End.