You don’t train the dog, the dog trains you; at least that’s what they say. Tonight my dog is making me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. He just spent almost 30 days in doggie treatment. In terms of Mr. Kingston, doggie treatment is the Cottonwood Kennels and Ranch, where he received training, in addition to day and evening care. I had to leave and I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? Kingston came home a man. I think it was hard for him, and I’m not sure what tricks Ted the trainer used, but Kingston got to hang out with other dogs and chase pheasants, elk, and deer on a beautiful ranch about 11 miles outside of Paonia, Colorado. He came home a new man. He’s chewing his bone, and I feel like trying to flim the rhyme zone. So I waft anew. The apple pie blossom in bloom. Our little black dog, just another man, chilling in the room.
That is absolutely terrible writing. It is neither good poetry, nor prose. It’s smells stinky in my nose.
I’m going to stop now, but I think I’ll just post this anyway, as a demonstration of a potential for humility, and an ability to laugh at the corndog felch that I am capable of.
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