Damn Dogs

The dogs, they bark. they bark bark bark.
I've never been particularly fond of dogs. Never disliked them, just never really had the desire to own one. I still don't own one, yet they surround me.
bark bark barking.
"SHUT UP!" I hiss at them.
they smell. they swim in the lake, and they smell. bad. and they like to climb all over you. jump up on your short frame as if to say, "look, if i stand on my hind legs i am almost as tall as you." they mock me.
bark bark barking.
their little nails, click click click on the hardwood floor as the scamper rambunctiously throughout the house. and they smell.
bark bark barking.
one i can live with. four is too many. too much smell.
too much,
bark bark barking.

Bukowski

"Somebody at one of these places asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?"
You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like it's looks, you make a pet out of it."

- Charles Bukowski