The Junkyard Dogs

Every Face I Look at Seems Beautiful

I’m Very Considerate That Way
We’re lying side by side, reading. A book for him, a screen for me. Me: I want a cupcake. Him: What? Where’d that come from? Me: This post I’m reading. See? I point at the word. CUPCAKE. It looks somehow magical, evocative, as if it were spelled out in actual cupcakes instead of plain old letters of the alphabet. Me: I think cupcake is one of my ten favorite words. Him: Hmm. You know, I don’t really like cupcakes. Pause. Me: That’s all right, I’ll have yours.

This Could Go on Forever
Wonderboy: My hearing aids aren’t working. Me: Oh, are your batteries dead? Wonderboy: Huh? Me: Do you need new batteries? Wonderboy: What? Me: Come here, let me check your hearing aids. Wonderboy: I think my batteries got dead. (And yes, we can communicate in sign language as well, but during this conversation I was holding a plate in one hand and a giant slice of pizza in the other. Priorities.)

Beware the Night Life
Just one week ago, Jack was in his prime. Ruddy, round-cheeked, he had a cheerful grin for all the world. Then he went out one night and got lit up. Now, sad to say, that once sprightly youth has aged before his time. He spends his days on the porch, cantankerously fr

Then Again, Perhaps She’d Be Offended by that “Cowrin, Tim’rous” Business
“It’s rather an unusual case,” said Madam Chairwoman blandly. “The prisoner is a poet. You will all, I know, cast your minds back to the many poets who have written favorably of our race—’Her feet beneath her petticoat, like little mice stole in and out’—Suckling, the Englishman—what a charming compliment! Thus do not poets deserve specially well of us?” —from The Rescuers by Margery Sharp The esteemed and sleek-whiskered M

Knight of the Kitchen Table
Once upon a time, there was a very tidy cupboard. Then along came young Sir Destructalot. Having wreaked maximum havoc, he paused, well pleased with his efforts… …and looked around for new frontiers.