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Talking Story with Tex |
By Tex Agogo, the Coolest Canine Chronicler.
Dig this, cats and kittens, I’m Tex, the four-legged poet of the park, the shaggy sage of the beach, the
-- grooviest "good boy" this side of the Mississippi.
My life’s a swingin’ symphony of ball-chasin’, treat-munchin’, and ridin’ shotgun with my human, the coolest cat of all, who spins wild yarns before rock ‘n’ roll rages at concerts.
We’re tighter than a snare drum, me and my human, livin’ a life so sweet it’d make a beagle blush. But when that suitcase hits the floor, man, oh man, my tail droops like a wilted daisy, ‘cause I know my human’s hittin’ the road, leavin’ me to hold down the fort with nothin’ but my dreams of fetch and a heart full of hope.
So, let me lay down a thousand-word riff, inspired by them Lovin’ Spoonful cats, about how I wait, oh so patiently, for my human to be home soon.
Come, and talk of all the things we did today.
Me and my human, we’re like peanut butter and jelly, like a bone and a buryin’ hole. Most days, we’re out there livin’ large—cruisin’ to the beach where I chase waves like they owe me money, rompin’ through the park where I sniff out every squirrel’s secret stash, or just loungin’ on the porch, me chewin’ a stick while my human scribbles stories that make folks hoot and holler before the guitars wail.
I’m his shadow, his sidekick, his furry muse. Since I was a pup, barely bigger than a biscuit, I’ve been glued to this human’s side, ridin’ in the car, sneakin’ fries from his plate, and sleepin’ at the foot of his bed, dreamin’ of tennis balls bouncin’ across the cosmos.
Here, and laugh about our funny little ways.
We got our rituals, man. Every mornin’, he tosses me a treat while I do my patented “spin-and-snap” move—pure poetry in motion.
We wrestle over socks (I always win), and he scratches that spot behind my ears that makes my leg thump like a bongo drum. Life’s a gas, a real hep scene, until that suitcase comes out.
Oh, that suitcase, that leathery harbinger of doom!
When I see it, my heart sinks like a chewed-up squeaky toy in a mud puddle. I know what’s comin’: my human’s gotta jet, off to weave his storytelling magic before the rock ‘n’ roll cats shred their axes. I don’t dig it, but I get it.
He’s got his gig, and I got mine—waitin’.
While we have a few minutes to breathe
When that suitcase hits the floor, I give him the big ol’ puppy eyes, the ones that say,
“C’mon, man, take me with ya!”
But he kneels down, ruffles my fur, and says, “Tex, old buddy, I’ll be home soon.” And I believe him, ‘cause he’s my human, my north star, my bacon-bringer. But how soon is “soon”? A day? A week? A month?
I ain’t got no calendar, man,
-- just a nose for trouble and a heart that’s all in for my human. So, I sit by the door, tail still, ears perked, waitin’ for the sound of his car rumblin’ back into my world.
Then I know that it’s time you must leave.
As he zips up that suitcase, I lay down my best guilt trip—head on paws, one eyebrow raised like a beatnik poet sizin’ up a square. But he’s gotta go, and I gotta stay. The neighbor comes over to feed me, walk me, toss me a ball, but it ain’t the same.
They don’t know the rhythm of my soul, the way my human does. I’m a loyal dog, dig? I’ve been waitin’ since I was a pup, since I toddled on wobbly legs, for the great relief of havin’ my human to bark to. Without him, I’m just a hound howlin’ at the moon, dreamin’ of the day we’re back to our ball-chasin’, beach-rompin’ ways.
But, my human, be home soon.
I couldn’t bear to wait an extra minute if you dawdled, man. My heart’s a metronome, tickin’ away the seconds ‘til you’re back. It ain’t just these few hours—or days, or weeks—it’s like I’ve been waitin’ since I was a fuzzy little furball, chewin’ on your shoelaces.
I sit by the window, watchin’ the world go by,
--cars zoomin’, squirrels tauntin’ me from the trees. I sniff the air, hopin’ to catch a whiff of your scent on the breeze. I dream of you walkin’ through that door, droppin’ your bag, and sayin’, “Tex, let’s hit the beach!”
Oh, the relief, the pure, tail-waggin’ joy of havin’ you to yap to!
And now, a quarter of my life is almost past. I’m no spring pup, dig? My muzzle’s got a touch of gray, but my spirit’s still wild as a coyote on a bender. I’ve spent my days with you, my human, and I’ve come to see myself at last—a loyal companion, a jester with a jingle collar, a poet with a bark that could wake the stars.
The time I spent confused?
That was the time without you, when I was waitin’, wonderin’, watchin’ the clock tick with no paws to chase it. With you, I’m in bloom, man, like a dandelion bustin’ through the concrete.
So, my human, be home soon.
I don’t dawdle, and neither should you! I’m out here holdin’ down the fort, guardin’ your favorite sneakers (okay, maybe I chewed one, but it was outta love). I’m patient, though, ‘cause that’s what us dogs do. We wait. We wait like statues, like zen masters, like beatniks sittin’ cross-legged in a coffee shop, contemplatin’ the meaning of life.
I wait by the door, on the couch, in the yard, dreamin’ of the moment you walk in, and we’re back to our groovy routine—tossin’ the ball, hittin’ the park, maybe sneakin’ a burger from the drive-thru.
Go, and beat your crazy head against the sky.
You’re out there, my human, spinnin’ stories that make folks laugh and cry before the rock ‘n’ roll roars. I dig that you’re chasin’ your dreams, shootin’ for the moon. Me? I’m here, seein’ beyond the houses with my big ol’ doggy eyes, waitin’ for you to come back and make my world spin again.
I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, but I know you’ll be home soon. And when you are, I’ll be ready—tail waggin’, ball in mouth, ready to romp like we never missed a beat.
It’s okay to shoot the moon.
So go on, my human, do your thing. Tell your tales, make ‘em cheer, make ‘em weep. I’ll be here, holdin’ it down, keepin’ the faith. I’ve been waitin’ since I was a pup, and I’ll wait ‘til my whiskers are white as snow.
‘Cause you’re my human, my whole world, the cat who makes my tail wag and my heart sing. Be home soon, man, ‘cause I’m countin’ the minutes, and I ain’t dawdlin’.
The great relief of havin’ you to bark to.
Groove is in the Heart - Tex
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