In which I post a few short poems about an unpoetic thing

My novel is progressing steadily--I'm at 7,008 words so far, with a goal of 50,000 words by November 30th.

Yesterday, an old friend who also happens to be a veterinarian, talked the main character into fostering an injured dog:

“Wait,” said Libby carefully, “what is it about this broken-leg dog that you aren’t telling me?”

“Who me?”

“You agreed pretty quickly to pie and coffee for the duration,” Libby pointed out. “which means that there is more than just a broken leg going on here.”

“Well…”

“I knew it.”

“The leg is badly infected, and very fragile. We’ve splinted it up sturdily, but she will need to be careful until after her pups are weaned.”

“Pups? You didn’t mention puppies! How many puppies are you bringing to me?”

“No idea, actually. She hasn’t had them yet. She’s probably got another week or so before she delivers, so you can get her settled in and comfortable.”

“I knew it, I knew it. Alright, I’ll do it—but you bring me pie and coffee.”

“Okay.”

“Every day.”

“Okay.”

“To my office.”

Hank sighed. “Fine.”

“Naked.”

The vet snorted and choked. “Dangit, Lib, I just sprayed coffee all over my steering wheel. Quit that!”

“Ha. You shouldn’t be talking on the phone and driving, let alone talking and driving and drinking coffee. You want people to think you’re a responsible adult, you might want to work on that.”

Just for the record, I have never had this conversation with any of the vets who have talked me into taking foster animals. Yet.

Here are a couple of haiku poems:

Worming Somebody Else's Horse

Grab hold, and hold on

Head, feet, syringe all fly up

did any go in?

Worming Fiddle

The wrapper : scary

The tube of stuff: not so much

After: I get cookies.

Worming Hana

You can give me that

and then pet me, okay? I

like the attention.

Worming Goats

Maaaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa.

Maaaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa. Maaaaa. Glug. Glug. Glug.

Maaa. Maaa. Maaa. Maaa. Maaa.