High coo!

Joe burst out in spontaneous haiku last night on his way into bed. 

For no good reason, other than because he loves to make up lyrics to songs and rattle off poems about the pug, this is what he uttered in perfect syllabic rhythm:

"Cubbie, when you breathe

It sounds just like breaking wind

But without the smell"

--

PS. Picture is of me and the pug walking up Osprey Avenue in downtown Sarasota three years ago. (Ricci took it. She used to walk on the opposite side of the street to get to her apartment on Cherry Lane.) I posted it because my friend Martin suggested I reenact the red-headed pug-walking photo from last week. When I found this old picture, I scanned it and thought, a-ha! This is what I look like walking the pug ... in the winter ... in Sarasota ... back when I used to work from an office ... back when I actually wore skirts ... and fancy hats.

PPS. Joe's haiku also reminded me of a poem my father once wrote for my mother. It goes: "I want to hug you, and squeeze you, and pop you like a zit."